Little Red Phone

The little red phone felt heavy in her hand
It felt like three, but the clock read ten
His voice was hoarse and heavy in tone
His voice malicious as he recanted and droned

The anger she cradled, deep in her chest
Her brain all but pleading to give in and rest
Yet she held on to the little red phone
The last thing she wanted was to be alone

He spoke of his hatred, truth and lies
How much he wished for her to just die
She tried to ignore his coke-frenzied mind
But the reasons for this she struggled to find

The weakness she buried, swallowed it whole
And there it descended heavily like a stone
His voice now trembled, whispered and rough
A few more insults to which she gave no thought

Then there was a click and he was gone
Frustrated with silence but held her tongue
She stared at the little red phone in her hand
Wondering if he would call once again

The petite square screen lit up once more
And there sat his name like the hours before
She answered the phone and steadied her ground
Preparing herself for another round