Throats hoarsen with daggered insults
A plea for control –
A threat of death–
A trust long frayed.

One arm reaches for the other
And uses it as a batting ram
A steady. beat.
Impounding on a vacuumed. chest.

And when hours pass
And scars are painted over
She provides flesh on a porcelain platter–
An apology for mistakes never made
She stares blankly beneath the sheets
And screams.
But hoarse throats make no sound.