Domestic Dispute
The wine
soaks
into the corners of her mind
blurring details,
blocking out all
but the dreamy cast
of a consciousness
unaware of reality.
It's the numbness
to which she's grown accustomed,
dependent.
Don’t wipe your melancholy on me, he screamed
those fingerprints of madness,
I won’t take it.
I never wanted this.
This is not what I wanted,
it’s not at all how I wanted it to be.
Meanwhile, the children cower
in the bedroom
surrounded by brightly colored toys
that give them no joy.
The door closes -
silence.
Posted by Amanda at May 05, 2003 09:09 PM
