He called the police on my last night.

I knew before the doorbell rang,

Heard their radio communications

And calm voices exuding authority.

My sister sent them on their way

With common sense, and an open smile

That stated, "We have no problems here."

All I had done was restrain him,

As he tried his best to wrench my fingers

Apart and bite my arms to bits.

But I am the criminal on trial again,

Convicted "psychopath" and charged:

Without my side ever being heard;

Even whilst he could get away with murder.

I have bruises clinging to my skin

Like black bullet holes, painfully riveting

And bite marks that fade too quickly to count.

I long so much to run away

But only find, I have nowhere to go.