How you slice your words with that sharp tongue of yours.
Shaping them to seem pretty while the rain outside just pours.
You take a step towards me, the blood stains still on your shirt.
Am I going to be the next person that you hurt?
The fear eating up my insides, yet I don't move an inch,
You whisper in my right ear, and I don't even flinch.
"Don't you love me?", you ask as though you expect me to answer.
"Why don't you ask the girl you just killed? Go ask her."
You stand there in shock, that I just talked back to you.
I realise I'm going to die today, it's been overdue.
You pace around after thinking and say, "You're lucky you're my wife you know?"
"I'm not going to kill you, I'm just going to make you hurt really, really bad though."
