tell me how it makes sense
to point fingers and say
that I'm the one in the wrong
yet you refuse to see the truth
past halfway?

it was a simple matter
the smell of soap and burning
steam
a single chore you asked of me.
it was my job, I should have done more
but did you once ask what happened before?

pain,
straining,
a lot more than mere complaining.
blood dripping,
*****-inducing,
felt like I was slowly losing
my mind.
I fell weak,
ill to the point
I could hardly speak
or eat
in the fight for consciousness
I admitted defeat.

the summer sun
burning into my skin,
sweat dripping
body shivering from the outside in.
I fell asleep
awoke in confusion
as to when my chore had been done.

next morning,
in a troubling dream
fighting monstrous beast
awakened
internal screams I stumble downstairs.
the dishes,
I see,
the soap and bubbles
visible
as though the dishes were unclean.

but I'm wrong you say,
that's alright
let me be the failed little doll
lazy, imperfect doll
a failed daddy's girl
for all I care.
perhaps I should curl up
in the strings of my own mind
with my chamomile tea and aspirin
looking towards the outside world
from within.