I was sitting on that ripped leather couch.
The room was dark, only the tv glowed.
The light reflected on your face, your eyes.
I watched as one can turned to a pile,
I was able to tell what was to come.
With the dog barking in your ear,
and kids screaming past their bedtime,
it was only a matter of time before —
that bomb went off inside your head.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
I sat there patiently, I wouldn’t dare speak.
Eventually things started to fall apart.
The whining dog, no more beer, remote broken.
He had no one else to take it out on,
no one was there, no one but me.
I listened as the fuse went off, words splattered,
all over the walls, the sofa, the floor.
I seen him go bright red with rage,
kicking cans, the table, the door.
It was all hell and chaos from there.
He had started to shout at me,
So I stupidly shouted back out of impulse —
He had turned me into a verbal punching bag.
I was a sinner, a disappointment, no child of his,
God wouldn’t have let me into heaven like this.
He wanted to rip my world apart,
But saying “I love you” would do more damage.
He wanted me to hurt the way he was then,
But talking to me would’ve broke him down,
So I would let him talk, even out of rage.
At the end, he would throw me out the house,
into the freezing cold, it felt more like exile,
with nowhere to go, nowhere to turn to.
It was only a few more hours til morning,
til his temper ran out, and the cycled continued.
I know he never meant to hurt me,
Emotions must be running through his head,
Alcohol did have a toll on his behaviour.
Leaving was never an option though —
Like a fool, I think he will change.
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Author:
Emery Walker (Pseudonym) (
Offline)
- Published: July 14th, 2025 22:24
- Comment from author about the poem: Sometimes when I write, it feels like a complete mess. I feel like i’m not even really writing at all, just complaining in a way. this poem is just one of those messes. I don’t like what I write in a way, but it does help me with figuring out my words and process what things I have experienced or are currently experiencing. It is healthy in a way, to get things off my chest completely anonymous. Anyways i’m done rambling i dont even know what I’m saying here. enjoy reading, eventually I’ll write a poem that even I can call good.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
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