my hands are shaking
my bottom lip is trembling
and I stand,
like the rocks that await
to be hit by the sea,
I raise a fist and take it to
my own left upper-arm,
it hurts a little
but not enough,
I do it again,
raising my right fist
and striking it against
my other arm,
this time it hurt a lot more,
but I'm still not satisfied,
I hit and I hit
for around twenty minutes
until my arm is all kinds of colours;
blue, purple, yellow,
I am covered in bruises;
I am crying now and my vision
is blurred;
I pick up the phone and listen
to the voicemail you left for me
when I was too drunk to say my own name,
and I lie down on the floor
trying to remember
how your lips moved
when you spoke your words of hate
and how your eyes would always fill with tears
when you saw me take the bottle to my mouth