Symphony of a Battered Woman
His cold hand graced the softness of my battered skin. He was a dead man but he walked in front of my eyes. His patterns of repetitive punches flew and sorrow filled screams coming from my heart never stopped him from rotting away. He continued to be dead but I saw him well alive, as I thought the law would never capture his deviance and pull him to the morgue.
Copyright © Jasmin Walker | Year Posted 2016
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