Did you ever think
That he would grind you down,
Down, right to the bone?
Through his threats and cigarettes,
His fists and liquor and wooden nose?
Did you ever think
That after a while, you might get tired
Of the prison cell you called your house,
Your job, your bed, your clothes, your hair,
Your mind? His rule over you?
Did you ever think
That you might get used to the
Actress you would impersonate
Every one of those nights when the two of you
Would end with porcupine love.
********
song -- "Bed of Lies," Matchbox 20
YOU ARE READING
My View from the Mount
PoetryA really close friend (she's the older sister I never had) once told me that I don't need to be established to consider myself a writer. So here I am. I'm a writer, but I'm not a professional. I'm just a girl with a pen who speaks through a notebook...
