Show me and I’ll show you
the scars that refuse to heal,
a constant reminder of betrayal
and the fight that left me bloodied and bruised.
The end of a love so innocent
and the beginning of my descent.
I’ll show you the crumbling walls
of the house I worked so hard to build,
the wilting roses left on the shaky table
beneath the velvet curtains that veiled
the sun trying to catch a glimpse
through the shattered window,
two cups left on the counter encrusted with dust,
the smell of mildew, the stale air,
old cobwebs of the only survivors,
and the glint of steel with a leather handle
that boasted the bloody prints I loathed,
wedged into the wooden floor.
The weapon would not strike
behind your neck, not in your back,
but would be driven straight against the chest.
Show me and I’ll show you
what’s hidden behind the tortured smile,
beyond the gleaming eyes,
under the sleeves I tug as you walk by.
Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.