by Nick Gisburne
She misses the abuse, the guilt, the shame
The misery, the only thing she had
A corner of her mind still burns with blame
Bewildered that she let the love go bad
The changes, inconspicuously small
Were quick to snatch and suffocate her soul
She did not seek to suffer, or to fall
But vicious, brutal beatings took their toll
The clumsy tools responsible for this
The knees, the feet, the choking hands, the fists
Remind her, still, of every tearful kiss
The lie, for which she hungers, still persists
The prison sentence pulling them apart
Will never mend her sick, distorted heart
