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Job_Well_Done

Poetry By: Phoebe Kishbaugh
Poetry



another poem about abuse


Submitted:Feb 29, 2012    Reads: 30    Comments: 3    Likes: 1   


Blood runs down my swollen lip,

My wrist is bruised beneath his grip;

Sweat is matting down my hair,

And soon I'm just too numb to care.

I try in vain to stay his hands,

After every violent blow he lands;

And while the stars dance over-head,

I hope that I will end up dead.

He presses me hard into the floor,

And when I scream he presses more;

I try to scream but just get silence,

I wish that he would stop the violence.

Tears and sweat and blood combine,

And blackened eyes begin to shine;

He smiles at his job well done,

And throws another punch for fun.

He says it's just to make me tough,

But I say I've really had enough;

And after rising from the floor,

I limp and hobble out the door.





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