If
there weren’t trails of evidence,
swear
I wouldn’t say a word.
For
forty-four minutes
she
hurled her body against the door.
How
do you explain what kind of crazy hurt it takes
to
turn a night of sips of wine and no cigarettes
into
trembling terror,
shattered
bottles and empty pack of smokes?
For
forty-four minutes,
she
kicked the door.
I
struggle with aging,
If
it’s not a tooth, knees, or lung.
She
promised, “I will always love you,”
her
eyes full of dark confessions
For
forty-four minutes,
she
hammered the door.
she
cut her hip nine times,
then
she went home with him.
She
said, “You knew I wasn’t happy.”
For
forty-four minutes,
she
knocked her head against the door.
There’s
a lot of things you can’t know
until
after it’s done.
The
night the shit went down,
she
smacked me so hard,
I
never saw it coming.
For
forty-four minutes,
she
banged her fists against the door.
I
cried, “No more lies, no more deceits.”
But
we’re all traitors here
our
own wickedest enemies.
For
forty-four minutes,
she
pounded the door.
No
matter how sad, or mad a song,
there’s
always an imp at the end,
who
sighs a careless laugh,
and
that mischief is me.
Does
the devil always win?
For
forty-four minutes,
she
knocked her head against the door.
she
kicked the door.
she
banged her fists against the door.
she
hammered the door.
she
threw her body against the door.
Oh,
yeah, one last remark.
I
tend to destroy evidence.
She
said, “You’re so OCD!”
but
you can’t obliterate every memory,
I
will always love her.
For
forty-four minutes,
she
knocked her head against the door.
she
kicked the door.
she
banged her fists against the door.
she
hammered the door.
she
threw her body against the door.
