That knock on my broken screen door

 
The neighbors
sit on broken
lawn chairs
as I run screaming
down our dirt road
throwing empty  
beer cans  
at the car you
stole to  
 
leave me
 
And they offer me  
sympathetic  
glares and shots  
of whisky  
while taking in
 
the green-stick  
break on my heart
(I fell down the stairs)

the two purple
fist marks
on my soul
(I ran into a wall)

And the missing  
patches of  
self worth
that looked
like they were  
yanked out
by monster-sized hands
(I got caught up
on the closet door)
 
and they sympathize  
but not too much
because the bruising
barely faded the last time
when you came
cruising in a car
with a big back seat
and a glove-box filled
with sex toys
 
and they tell me
I’m not in love with you  
rather I’m addicted to
dopamine I get  
from those  
Nagasaki sized
love bombs  
 
And I agree when  
you’re up the road
with another  
bitch slobbing  
your knob  
under the steering wheel.
 
And I agree when  
another man
pets my hair
and tell me I’m  
pretty
 
And I agree  
with everything they said
 
But you said…
 
You were sorry
 
You said you didn’t mean it
 
You said it was an accident,  
and you never thought  
that
would happen.
 
And it would  
never happen  
(never happen)
again
(again)
(again)
(again)
 
And I shrug
your touch off
as you stand in the  
doorway  
 
The neighbors shake their  
heads around a common  
yard filled with old tires
and older dreams
murmuring  
that you’re gonna
take it too far one day
and kill me
 
But they don’t know
the way your  
napalm mouth tastes
in nuclear winter
or the way my  
body twists  
around your  
agony
 
You lift my chin  
(Never again)
(Never again)
(Never again)

to taste
my battered heart  
 
Because they know  
that one day  
you’re going to  
take it too far
 
and I know
it’s already
too far
 
And I can hear
sound of  
breaking
glass  
before  
you  
cross the threshold