Everyday
Stress seethes
out his pores
everyday stress
banging
slamming drawers
mumbling
he spits epithets
Everyday
my shoulders hunch
I stretch to release
his venom
as he writhes
in his disease
taking him down
I watch him shower
he looks for his washcloth
opposite of where it is
he finds it turning around
my heart goes out to him
as I struggle to survive
his pointing finger
Willow, I feel for you. That last stanza....so sad. Feeling for you as you must even take care to know where his washcloth is, though it is in the usual place. That pointing finger would be SOOOOO hard Hugs.
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