**Content Warning:This poem contains graphic depictions of domestic violence, physical assault, strangulation, emotional abuse, and suicidal thoughts. It may be distressing to some readers. Please prioritize your mental and emotional safety while engaging with this content. If you or someone you know is experiencing abuse, support is available.

 

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November 22nd, 2024

 

12:30 am

My exhale hollows my lungs—

pungent and cold, crisp as the air.

I kill the engine. Slam the door.

Again.

Again this.

Why must it always be this?

Have I never been enough?

Will I ever be?

12:31 am

The door handle squeaks—bitter,

as if warning me not to return.

Your text repeats in my head:

Come home. Can we talk about this?

12:33 am

The bedroom is ice.

I am your widow.

Heavy silence cracks,

drowned in your tears

and the subtle movements

in my breaking.

12:40 am

I scream his name.

I ask how—

How could you?

Why did I ever believe you could change?

12:41 am

“Well, you’re fat. Disgusting. Lazy.

You never made me feel supported.

You never got over the last time.

I’ve been dead to you since August 2022.”

Your words—

the arrow that split me.

12:42 am

“I don’t need another fake sorry.

This is the tenth time.

I can’t do this anymore.

I’m done. It’s over.

I need you out of the house.”

My voice echoes,

rings,

decays

in the silence.

12:43 am

Your tears stop.

The shaking ceases.

Your face goes pale—

stoic.

A stranger again.

Then:

“What did you expect of me?”

Unfortunately,

I expected better.

12:44 am

My mind races.

You’ll hide this.

Like always.

I leave the room.

Over my shoulder:

“I’m sending this to them.”

12:45 am

The passion you had for me

and for the other men—

both burn the same now.

Rage.

Familiar.

Iron-fisted.

The same rage that left

bruises.

Marks.

Scars.

Fight or flight.

Always flight.

Always.

12:46:10 am

The living room is bare.

Except the Christmas tree.

We were supposed to celebrate next month.

Gifts already hidden.

This was meant to be safe.

But then—

the pierce.

My forearm bleeds.

Your teeth mark me.

I yelp like a wounded dog.

You just stare at your phone,

In my hand.

12:46:15 am

I turn my back.

It doesn’t stop you.

Nothing does.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Your fists slam my back.

No words.

Only silence—

holy in its cruelty.

12:46:22 am

Left.

Right.

Left.

Each strike,

a sentence you’ve never said aloud.

I take a step.

You force me back.

Grab my shirt.

Rip it.

My only protection—

gone.

Bare.

Ashamed.

Naked in every way.

12:46:23 am

The rip ripples through me.

I lose balance.

Fall.

Turn.

See your face.

There is no love left.

Only rage.

Did I do this to you?

What about me made you hate me?

12:46:24 am

Your hands find my neck.

Push.

Full control.

A couch breaks the fall—

but gives you more leverage.

You straddle me.

Grip tightens.

Your face—pure hatred.

Not a trace of remorse.

Just power.

This is when you died.

Not August 2022.

Now.

Here.

You are no longer someone I can love.

12:46:25 am

I grab your wrists.

Can’t loosen them.

12:46:26 am

You stare into my soul.

I can’t breathe.

12:46:27 am

Your hands scream death.

I pray.

12:46:28 am

I press my palms to your stomach.

Push.

You stop.

12:46:29 am

I stand.

You charge again.

You hit me.

I throw your phone.

A desperate plea

for something to break besides me.

You stop.

Pick it up.

Unfazed.

I’m broken.

You walk back to the bedroom.

I walk to the dining table.

Grab a shirt.

Cover my bruised neck.

Cover the shame.

And I leave.

12:50 am

The car starts.

I cry.

I call my mom.

Just to hear someone breathing.

Just to not be alone.

 

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