Alone in my kitchen

Stabbed cigarette.

I wonder if I should cut it in half, but instead I just look at it, the light too bright even if I recall it dim.

I stood outside, waiting for Jack to simply do something, anything, some sort of brief explication, but instead I just got wind in my face and I checked my lipstick about two times.

I roll up the sleeves to watch the bruises fade in the bright light as the music goes from the inside with the video of my husband which he sits rewatching and sometimes his mood matches something opposite of my own and I have to watch him with other women, all of those who go on their knees and I just have to click my nails, thinking that it would be sexy, but it’s not and he just slaps my face.

I just look up, knowing how the new bruise will look like.

Maybe it will shape his hand, maybe my mouth if I could bite my own cheek, but I stare at Jack and he looks from above, as if he would be a saint.

Once I watched those videos of himself and other women by myself, just sitting there, clicking my nails as usual and he would just inside to watch me.

He dyed my nails once up to my wrists and he just looked at me, I didn’t flinch so he just swung his hand at me.

Maybe he were the man who would lock his children in a room for thirteen years, maybe he would lock me in a room and I would scream.

On the weekends we both sit in the same room, facing each other, sometimes I am naked and he rapes me, this is where I light a new cigarette and I am not allowed to inhale, so it is just left in my mouth with my bruises to make a collection and if we’d have neighbors they would never hear any of the screams and even when he hurls me across the room, nothing would be heard, as sometimes I don’t even feel my weight upon myself.

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Sorry, it ended up being quite short but I really hope you enjoyed it and thank you

Sorry, heading off to bed:)

<3 Scrub off the foam