She laid across the satin sheet
A sandal dangling off her feet
The bruises that could not be hid
Accentuates where make up did
LOVE had pulled a clump of hair
Beat and left her dying there
Scarlet drops of battle lost
Promotes the last and final cost
Her eyes locked wide, stares into space
Contorted, pain, across her face
In rasping, takes her final breath
She dies alone, and “loved” to death
It is nice to read your work again. It seems as though a long time has passed since I did. Your poem conveys such a difficult topic with such respectability and truth. Abuse is not love, in any way, shape, or form, but sadly, the abused are blind to this realization for being bound by the beliefs to the contrary that the abuser twists and moulds into their heads as fact.
Take care and welcome back!
Jill