Behind the Door
With fury at my heels,
I struggle up the stairs
seeking sanctuary behind the bolted door.
Fists banging against the wall
demanding entry
threatening………..always threatening.
A mirror on the wall reveals
all to familiar
drops of blood
trickling down from my swollen lip.
Cold water splashes over my tear stained face
as I contemplate how to deal
with this living, breathing nightmare.
How sad this is our life.
Vows made, promises forgotten,
two hearts who once loved,
two souls intertwined
now hostel adversaries
in a battle for some kind of
empty, meaningless supremacy.
I shift my aching body
knowing the physical wounds
will eventually heal.
The brutal assault to my
self-worth and wellbeing, however,
will leave scars that will
stay rooted in me for lifetime.
Sitting on the floor against the door
with no conception of time
all is quiet now.
My thoughts stray to tomorrow.
It has become darkly amusing how
empty apologies
ill-fated promises
and day old flowers
keep me subdued in this personal hell.
I have come to know the routine well.
Shame on you for treating me this way.
Shame on me for allowing it.
Copyright © Liz Labadie-Reilly | Year Posted 2012
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