The corner between the fridge

and the wall is an endearing space.

It is close together, 

the two surfaces hold me,

while I am falling apart.

 

I held her there once.

While her shoulders shook,

and her eyes cried. 

Her body rocked back and forth.

Seeking some kind of warmth.

 

It is ironic. 

The cold floor,

the barren walls,

the hard fridge,

are more of a refuge to her 

than you have ever been.

 

She spoke words, 

I had never heard her say.

They pierced my ears,

and sank my heart.

Fear bubbled 

through my veins.

 

Fear that turned

my blood to fire. 

That caused it to boil,

to simmer, and spit. 

It burned so bad.

 

"I should just take 

a shotgun to myself,

shouldn't I?" She spoke. 

Over and over and over 

she repeated those words. 

You did this.

 

You pick flowers from the ground, 

giving false hope of nurture,

but you pluck the petals off. 

One by one,

"I love you,"- pluck. 

"I don't love you," - pluck. 

All you do is lie. 

 

She used to be a rose,

blooming with life. 

Her petals soft to the touch.

Her roots in her own foundation. 

She had the sun in her eyes,

and warmth in her smile. 

You killed her flame. 

 

You cut her roots, 

and when she was gasping for air. 

You shoved the bills in her mouth

and told her to shut up 

because you paid them

and that somehow makes you God. 

That somehow should give her life.

You took her voice. 

 

She sits there,

day in and day out.

Slowly rotting into

the floorboards

of this damn house. 

You extinguished her light. 

 

You have slowly 

made her decay- rot away.

I had to watch it all.

With no hope to help. 

You thrive by knowing this.

You stripped her of everything.

 

You did this.

All you do is lie.

You killed her flame. 

You took her voice.

You extinguished her light.

You stripped her of everything. 

 

I hate you.

I hate how much you love control. 

I hate how fake you are. 

I hate how you make me feel. 

I hate it all, 

but mainly I hate how you

have made her hate herself.