"I hate yous" frantically choked down,
Instantly uglys push their way through her singed throat.
Purged fragments of love crumbs ,
spew across the dust covered mirror.
Her bloated stomach twisted in a forgotten pretzel.
Hatred pounds inside her chest,fighting Round 10.
Fists of bitter words balled up,
punching for escape.
Where is the crowd?
Forgiveness is buried somewhere in her left toe.
Coastal blue veins warm her next upheaval passage.
She stares at that reflected monstrosity.
Will there be Round 11?
Copyright © Robin Maughan