She used to be beautiful.

I remember everything

Her lips

Her hair

Her eyes

Her scars.

It was supposed to be perfect.

Those slender legs now stand in my doorway.

The soft light of the moon shines on her.

Her pleading lips,

Cut by a hit too hard,

Shed crimson onto her chin.

Her once glossy hair,

Had now become a rag.

Her viridian eyes

Begged for help.

Her skin was claimed by cuts

Each marking its territory.

She was a stranger.

Not the woman I love.