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Suits me

I shot him in the shoulder,
he shot me in the foot
 - we took three steps forward
and ninety two back

On the attack is the cat,
in the kitchen, scavenging for food
and claiming it
its own

while he chooses music and I make the tea,
smoking a cigarette
out of the quarter open window
as he doesn't like smoke and the cat musn't flee through the window to the great outdoors.

I relight the cigarette and contemplate the rape
that persists in my mind
for it's a far too literal memory
and he doesn't get it. I suppose it's pretty hard

like the shackles with the metal ridges
and the noise of them against the metal bed
and the way my mouth broke for screaming
and what it's like to not be free

but I suppose a man, with eyes that of poisonous tar
and hair that could hold a thousand secrets,
it doesn't concern
as the burden has never been his

so I shall smoke into the quarter crack of the open window
and I'll make tea, make sure the cat doesn't do a runner -
he'll choose the music that settles my mind
and cleans the dirtier pastures.
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
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