Home - 15 minute poetry for the emotionally impaired

I guess it's a little cheesy. I never finish these.

…

Softly treading footfalls speak

upon the witching hour

Angry floorboards groan and squeak 

against his drunken cower

Curled within an raging ball

of peaceful, sleeping hate

failed ambush, to spiteful sprawl

impatiently, she waits

And even though she knows he knows

the war that's soon to come

A minute more, and they'll be foes

But at least for now, he's home

He stops and leans against the door

And waits for her to stir

…

That's it. My 15 minutes are up. 

The fight is the principle. I guess in my own fucked up way, this is proof of love. He's home, he's alive, he's in one piece after whatever dumb thing he was out doing, and even though you know you're gonna have to rage, there's a moment of calm when everything is just okay.

This is why I have unhealthy relationships.

Ha. <3