The bottle

He’s on a rampage again,
Screaming,
Yelling,
“Where’s my vodka?!”
He stands and lunges at me,
Like an animal after it’s prey,
Screaming,
Yelling,
“You took my vodka!”
I deny his claim
And he hits me with his calloused hand.
His hands hard from the broken bottles,
Hard like sandpaper.
My smooth cheek no longer as silk,
Now like fire,
Hot and burning.
I fall onto the empty bottles,
The glass piercing through my once unharmed skin,
My ribs cracking as fire in an open flame.
I cry out
I fell broken
He stands over me with the eagle’s eye again,
Then a glimmer…
He spots a new, unopened, bottle
He lunges at it, like he did for me.
Now caressing the bottle, like it was engraved in diamonds.
The first sip is taken
A glaze comes over his eyes,
Like a slippery floor, he stumbles back into his chair
Not once looking at me.
I cringe as the blood flows like a river.
Flowing,
Flowing,
Never stopping.
Black spots cover my eyes.
This is no surprise
This has happened before
It’s an everyday thing,
Like a bird spreading its wings.
And I pray to the heavens to accept me tonight
As I lie here and die.