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
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
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