The Wall

The words of our past are written in blood.

Staring at the wall,

Tears flowing like a flood.

The wall is anger,

The wall is the excuse.

The reason for my bruised knuckles.

The wrath of my abuse.

I look at the wall.

The paint untouched.
 A clean, plain wall.

The anger never left from my hand to surface.

The pain is still inside.

But yet,

There is still bruises on my heart

From the blows to my pride.

Goodbye my love.

Maybe one day.

We will be as the wall.