10 to 0

Ten was the first lie. “I’m not doing that crap, I’d never lie to you.”

 

Nine was the next fight. Slamming doors, throwing things, and hitting each other.

 

Eight was the moment between. Walking around on eggshells as you became more unstable.

 

Seven was the symptoms that followed the habit. Paranoia, sleep-deprivation, and irritability.

 

Six was your continuous denial and the blame. “It’s not even mine, those were her’s.”

 

Five was the phone call. “Come quick, he’s going to hurt her. I can’t say my name. Come quickly.”

 

Four was the month of freedom. “I’ll never let him back in. I promise.”

 

Three was the promise. “Just let me back in, please. I can show you I’m better in a month’s time.”

 

Two was the betrayal. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but I love her and that doesn’t matter.”

 

One was the last bit of hope I had. “This time it will be different.”

 

Zero. “I give up. They’ll never change.”

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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