Room To Breathe

His salt and pepper hair, The short, flat-top cut, The brown and gray mustache, Surrounded by the five o’clock shadow. The man I fell in love with, Tall, dark and handsome, Reduced to a cold, uncaring tyrant, Ruling my life with an iron hand. Staring, lifeless, dark gray eyes, With pupils black, and big, and round, Bloodshot from the ghastly drugs, That flowed violently through his veins. Hands that once held mine, With tender love and care, Suddenly balled into hard, mean fists, Like two rubber mallets, ready to strike. For years the anger enveloped me, Like a butterfly that tries to break free from a cocoon, Wrapped tight in the web of anger, Like a newborn in a blanket. The very being of my life, Was slowly and painfully sucked out. By the hatred and self-loathing, That singed the candle of my soul. But the flames of orange and blue, Burned hot, and bright, and strong, So that I felt nothing the day you left, Except relief, and room to breathe.