Beneath Rough Hands-An English Sonnet

Distain, dripping now, from lying forked tongue Transcending eyes upon shattered back door Your poisonous breath has filled your black lung My skin, silky beneath rough hands, has tore I beg, freedom from bleak endless suffering How your hands fit perfectly ‘round my neck My mere flesh no longer is buffering Your dark, hysterical, heated mad trek My soul never was yours for the taking A thought that has never crossed your small mind I soon shall be dead, my heart now aching Exposed, now I see that true love was blind In my passion I had learned to forgive In my folly he took my choice to live