Abuse

It seems that the sun is setting sooner these days;
the earth is spinning faster and I think I need to go.
You turn to me and disagree - you think the sun is
rising later as days go by – and you struggle
to wake up when the daylight finally penetrates
the cell you call your home. The night is closing in
and my death is on the way, I wince as the shadow falls on my face.
Cast by you hanging deathly from the ceiling, your lifeless lips -
with tender movements – put pressure on my neck and
pump air into my lungs. I fight you off with poignant
words and half-hearted punches, the rotten wood
gives way to your laughter. Making shapes
with your mouth, you make smiles and hearts
in red and white but your eyes are haunted. And I
learn to forget you, and compartmentalise my anguish
as your rearrange my face and body. Well, I'd
love to have you over so I can show you the life I've made
but I'd hate you to see the mess you've made of my organs
and the blood running down my legs. Time is running faster
as we get older but you can't change; a pump-action and a
baby cries and marmalade stains the sky. You can't stop
the clouds from blocking the sun that shines on
your perfect life.