There she lies curled on a cold concrete slab
Eviscerate midsection gushing blood
And her face and clothes are ***** and drab
Ruinated thoroughly with thrown mud

Sometimes I wonder if we're wielding rage
In service to the worship of our self
Never realizing our flaws and their wage
Tucked them away on an overlooked shelf

Hearing her husband's heart-weary crying
Ever we play the unsatisfied spouse
Villains pursuing which leaves love dying
Ever we plot to be first in the house

I guess you're right as I stare at the floor
Left gut-stabbed, she can't hurt us anymore