August 3, 2012
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Dim and musty,
an old tile floor,
peppered with dried tears,
from countless times before.
Staring at the floor I sit upon,
trying to shut it all out.
As I look up to see him push her,
I lose all doubt,
that this cannot be right,
though it is all I know.
But it's so normal by now,
for bruises to show.
The old wooden table,
turned over in the chaos.
Feet crunch on shards of glass,
more shoves and yells,
the sting of a slap,
the thud of a punch.
I cover my ears to become lost,
in my world I escape to whenever I can.
This horrible emptiness,
this harsh reality,
is more than I can stand.

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