Your hand print lingers.
My body, My temple, and your punching bag.
For here I lay- Damaged goods- Sweaty and shaken from where you have touched.
My heart aches in it's cage,
While you sleep blissfully- I'll tell myself tell myself 'Its okay, "" He loves me, right?"
I'll stay quiet so that the neighbors wont get to asking.
My heart aches, my lungs wheeze and my brain hates.
But my soul is branded, even after all these years,by you who sleeps.
Broken and Bruised it lingers here.
- LaDawn Arts