conversations

four

you're in the kitching, while i'm sitting down

a drink in your hand, i put on a frown

you guzzle the bottle, crown royal

i muffle a cry, tears dripping on my gown

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my limits are broken, i've had enough

i run to the kitchen, try to act tough

i snatch the bottle, but you're real rough

you yell in my face, your voice is gruff

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"give that back!" you start to shout

but before you can take it, i run out

i throw the bottle down, forgetting my doubts

your eyes are bloodshot, as you come about

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you touched me one, you swore you wouldn't touch me twice

but that feeble promise was broken tonight

you hold your stare, your eyes having no light

and you hit my face, but to you it felt right