The black and the blue, they glow in the room, so illuminated in the moonlight shining through.
The tears in her eyes glisten with fear, yet she refuses to let them fall.
What is even the point at all? He's screaming her name, she answers the call.

Where are the angels and saviors, she wonders silently;
she enters the hall and whispers one more prayer; her lover is there
and discontent with the scene, a woman in the after-dream daring to sob silently.
And she's shoved against the wall as he raises his fists in the internal brawl.

She's stooped against the mattress with the wine glass in hand,
one last question to understand what went wrong;
the years of abuse, the beautiful noose she keeps in her back pocket
to save her last song, to prove she was right all along.

He wanders the house with his rifle at hand
and his spiked armor on the offense, tossing dishes at the front door,
shooting curses and spit in the sink, anger pulsing through veins
and he's not keeping score of his fists,
damage points, he can't take anymore.

She cries and her tears leave puddles on floors
as she waits for the telltale slam of the door.
She packs away cash and burns photographs
to leave the dead house for sure.