Is there anything left to salvage
when I'm up at three in the morning
scrubbing my mouth out with soap,
trying to erase the metallic taste of
shame from the back of my throat?
And even after my gums are bleeding
I still can't scrape the layer of
come off my tongue that has
always been chokingly thick yet
never enough to keep me from
sucking him off at the end of
every heated argument
he starts and I can't finish.
When did it come to the point where
I need half a bottle of bourbon to
block out the feeling of his
hands on my shoulder blades
when he pulls out of
our holding pattern.
Sometimes I'm glad we never had
children. I know I'd blame them
instead of him because I'm afraid of
losing the only stability I've ever known.
When I doubt this fact I just remember
who he was fucking when I was
in a hospital bed bleeding,
not able to cry as the results of him
coming inside me one time too often
slid down my thighs like the tears
I could not shed. He never knew
I was tongue-fucking the maid when
it happened. She shuddered then gasped
at the stain on my white linen
skirt as she clutched at her crucifix
and ran towards the phone.
She quit three days later on
pretense of salary, but not even
his bribery could make her stay.
I'll never forget the
smug look on his face
when he told me
“Baby, this just isn't working
I'm sorry, but sadly I must be
going. I can't pretend I love you
the way I once cared for the
woman you once were--
with tits that would make a
hands of a goddess--
where did that sweet girl I
once knew run away to?
You're not the hot wife that I
married. So, darling I must say
goodbye-- you'll get over my
dazzling smile and my charming
blue eyes. So farewell Emmaline,
this just isn't my scene anymore.
I'm taking the Porsche and going to
Gina's-- oh, didn't I tell you?
I've met someone else.”
The bastard just grinned and
patted my knee. Was he ever
mistaken if he thought he was
getting off that easy...
“Jack! You sorry excuse for a
man. Did you think you could
just walk away? Don't hold your
breath, lover-- it's not over yet.
The girl that you married never
left-- you just sucked all the
life from her weak naïve
body. How dare you act like you're
God's gift to women. Do you
think you'd be anything without
all those pills that you pop and insisting
on fucking girls half your age?
They don't know the difference
between good sex and rape. So
keep telling yourself that you're
great-- maybe they'll believe it, too.
God knows that I did-- when I was
too stoned to notice how
insecure older men are.
I hate that I've wasted
my life on this marriage of
less than convenience,
more bullshit than either of us
ever expected. There's no
more room for regrets inside these
decorated walls. So get out you
selfish, inglorious asshole. I
hope that you rot. If you think
that I'm lying, take two steps and
see if your balls are still there.”
Then he called me an
ungrateful whore and
remembered to slam the
door on the way to his car.
Who's sorry now?
I've held my tongue for
too many years, yet
still I'm shocked that it's
come down to this.
Not even a kiss. So I
sink to the carpet and
kick off my hundred
dollar shoes. I'm so tired of
being used by the man
that I love. And after all that
he's done and all that
we've said there's no way to
deny it-- I still crave the
bruises he leaves on my hips
when he spins me around,
pressing my knees into
And even after the way
that we left it I'll probably
crawl back to him when
he's done fucking the
new one and misses the
way that I tremble when he
punches holes in the walls of
our bedroom. My body betrays
me until he holds all of the
cards. But what will they
tell him tomorrow when
the rest of the scotch has
been pissed out and he's
left with nothing but
car keys and sickly sweet
kisses from some girl
whose name he's already