The colour of loveA Poem by GeeDomestic abuse
Look at you you poor ol' thing
does it hurt, do they sting, is it love that paints your skin that draws those colours from within. Will you when he begs and pleads, forgiveness sought on bended knees, tell him that you understand 'twas fermented malt that raised his hand. And of course you know he'll never again, (until of course he does it again) so the roses wrapped in week old news will ease the pain of every bruise. These fading 'til none there to see unblemished skin, scarred memory, fears shared with self, reflected back, of when not if, his next attack © 2019 GeeReviews
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Added on February 20, 2019Last Updated on December 7, 2019 |

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