This Long Night

The silence is sharp, like a blade, pressing on taut skin and waiting.
On the TV the weatherman is muttering.
Six more inches of snow to come
Before this long night is over.

The screen's blue light flickers across her face,
Like the signal to begin.
To set in.
To rip each other apart with fangs of disdain, contempt, and stubborn disbelief.

We go at it, again, words being launched at vulnerable throats.
Bloody words splatter the walls with living paint.
The walls sign with fatigue, and plead to see it end.
The end, my end, our end.

The heated words grow in pitch, like the frigid wind whipping by outside.
I'll never learn, she'll never understand.
I'll never grow up, and she'll never have faith.
Desperation starts to taint the edges of our threats.

The blood on the walls turns to water, salty with the age of a thousand disputes.
It leaks and trickles from our hearts, not our eyes.
The words are now screams, birds of prey coming in for the kill.
And then it stops.

The silence melts back in, like a mob of advancing soldiers, guns aimed at furious eyes.
The weatherman is still muttering.
Eight inches of snow to come
Before this ling night is over.

-2-3-03-