I hate music
She yells. He yells louder.
That is the music
Which seeps through my walls.
Doors slam,
A car starts.
The blade dances
Over porcelain skin
At six in the morning,
Three in the afternoon,
Ten at night
My music plays loud.
His fist makes contact,
She yelps in pain.
The blade dances
Over porcelain skin
In a red river of tears.




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