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.