Alone in fetid darkness
tracing the patterns of bruised flesh
he called this his lovemark.
I know I'm stupid
for buying and believing
that same ole song and dance.
I am slightly neurotic.
Every woman wrapped
in a single, space of skin.
Your go-to girl
reaching new heights every time you snap
them fucking calloused fingers.
And when you wrap them around my neck
tighten the noose, of my life
cause I'm a hazard.
So are you.
This dance is coming to an end
my feet are weary,
this flesh is torn
and you're just a nightmare I can't wake up from.
Adding your comment:
Ahhh, what a poem you penned...and just in time for my birthday, too. 
Sheesh, Woman. Your writing is as solid and as intense as ever. 
