It wouldn’t be until the next morning that I would find them stained on my skin. I stand in front of my closet mirror and stare at black and blue. I lightly dance my fingertips across my naked skin. I couldn’t remember how each one had happened, but each brought back moments of the night before.

Short breaths.
Foggy windows.
Hands in hair.
Lips on neck.

I turn my thoughts back to the mirror and reach for my shirt. And that’s when I see the long, red scar traced down my side.

And that’s when I think maybe you aren’t so good for me.

And as you held your bags
preparing to leave,

I felt pain

the kind of pain you feel
when a terrible bruise starts to fade away
when you know the worst has passed

don't you get it?
you were my bruise

and despite the pain I felt
I am truly glad you left

He cries, tells her it's the last time.
Cherry lips and violet eyes,
She lies because she's so broken
She can't remember how it felt to be whole.
A boy too small to fight,
Though that doesn't stop him from trying;
A little girl who will never know that love doesn't include bruises and broken bones.
She could leave,
But she knows he'd find her as he has so many times,
Wandering the highway somewhere between the 5th and 9th time
She ponders whether it hurts worse to live or die.
Her baby in her arms and one trailing behind,
A shotgun aimed between her eyes,
She'll climb inside his old blue pickup truck,
Which is somehow colder than the October night.

She hears the whispers—
Illegal. Dependent. Brainless.
Can they not see their own reflection in her tired eyes
And realize that if the stars aligned differently,
They could have been the one wearing sweaters in the summer
And sunglasses in the grocery store?
As she pushes the shopping cart home,
She says a silent prayer that he'll be gone,
But he never is.
When her nose bleeds on the tile
She no longer cries,
Just syncs the pounding in her head with her heartbeat, screaming,
It's over. It's over. It's over. It's—

He stared at the cuts on his wrist
Reprimanding himself for his cowardice
To not  finish the job
Melissa had seen those cuts
Dug deep  into his wrist; angry red
Knowing  full well the reason for them
But choosing to ignore them

He flinched letting out a sharp gasp
As slaps  and  punches  hit him
Opening old wounds  and  bruises
His body a palette of suffering  and  pain
Bleeding tears down his skeletal frame
Melissa  watched these attacks
Her boyfriend  inflicted upon him
But chose to ignore them

His eyes were dry from shedding tears
His heart was torn from the constant crushing
His body wracked and tired from the frequent beatings
And his brain weary and ready to shut down forever
That morning Melissa  couldn't  ignore the body
Hung in her front garden
Holding a bouquet of wilting roses;
With a heart saying *I love you

i used to have words tearing off my skin
stabbing my soul before bringing me back
just to bleed me all over again
and i don't think i've ever prayed harder
to keep my demons away from me.

one day it flew back to hell and
left me with a lump in my throat;
bruises along my fingers
aching when i feel my veins
and found that i no longer recognize
the rhythmic echo that once was mine.

I find it hard to keep my head on the level
          Keep thinking,
waiting for the second I lose my mental
     Missing some thoughts about you
Memory got shot, a drive-by from what the last guy put me through
     And some of the blood left a few stains
Bruises and scars but it ain't the same thang
            The marks everyone else can see ain't nothing compared to the rips and tears deep inside of me
       The stains on my soul turning what used to make me whole
          into something ***** and cold
      No amounts of bleach or scrubbing can make me forget
Nothing can help me escape from
             the laundry list of regrets
It beats me up inside,
       causes more, new and fresh bruises
               with every nightmare
And no matter how many dreams I have between,
         I can't seem to get there
To that place of no longer looking back,
            of thinking about the past
Cause some trauma tends to define
      what your **happiness lacks