Revenge

A poem

The blade is sticky, warm to the touch
I flinch, but it doesn’t hurt much
Droplets of scarlet red paint the floor
With a moan, I inch toward the door

He lies motionless thereby, but I’m not afraid
Blood circles his body, but I cradle the blade
I sniffle a sigh of relief; the battle has been won
With a gasp, I crouch over what I have done

Forewarned of his nature, I ignored the threat
I hid the bruises with makeup, covered up the regret
He said I was unloved and he put me in a cage
With a shudder, I kick his head, blinded by rage

I watch blood trickle from his skin with a smile
His slimy brown hair is matted; maybe I’ll stay awhile
He pushed, punched and screamed this into being
With a laugh, I kick his side; oh, how revenge is freeing