I.
My eyes glassy, swollen, and red
Narrowed into slits
As I gaze at your hated visage
My lips plump, bleeding, and torn
Lets out a snarl
As I spat out truths
You extinguish with your slaps
Open-palmed into my face
Uncaring, and hard nails
Scratching my cheeks
As it rakes not only my skin
But the very veil of respect
I had left for you.
II.
My chest pounding within me
I cannot find the right rhythm to breathe
My fingers dug deep into my palms
Leaving half-moons later
My vision gets blurry as I sustain myself from your blows and from my own labored gasps.
III.
I am not the scared child you can conveniently scar anymore.
My scabs had grown tougher...
The gaping wounds had reopened yet numbed than ever
IV.
In the morning when I leave, I know.
From the victim, I would be the violator ----
The scum that you paint me in your head
And, everyone would believe you.
How clever the words that stitch lies into truths
But they would not see
you are the one left unscratched.
I am left with fresh trauma in my head, disappointment in my heart, and a deep nail scratch on my left cheek.
It's no big deal.
Scars like that won't kill me.
But it definitely killed the me who loved you.