deepundergroundpoetry.com

War Zone

Every night I walked through the door    
Your combat boots would trip me    
And I would quietly move them    
So your combat hands wouldn’t hit me    
   
In the morning you’d lace them up    
Stomping dirt around the floor    
And I would tiptoe sweeping behind    
The mess you trudged but blamed me for    
   
When you left I’d release my breathe  
Your heavy footsteps rattled by bones
And I would still creep on my bare feet  
Because our house remained a war zone
Written by Isgyppie_ (L.C. McQuillen)
Published | Edited 30th Jul 2024
Author's Note
Combat boots
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