Black

A perspective poem from that of a spousal abuser.

Black
Black and Blue
Black, Blue, and Red
What have I done?
Heart weighed down with dread,
I’ve caused more damage without using a gun;
Because pain wouldn’t have to be felt with the squeezing of the trigger and the quick piercing of hot lead.

Black
Black and Blue
Black, Blue, and more Red
Through blurred, moist eyes it must be her figure I see,
Lying face down on the bed.
This isn’t me,
Rage is the monster which I have no choice but to keep fed.

Now it isn’t the sorries but a body in the sack
-- too much Red has turned everything to Black.