Little w****,
he growls,
as a rough hand
slams my head against
the ground.
I try to wiggle
out of his grasp,
screaming,
but it doesn’t matter.
The pressure only increases
as he turns me onto my back,
his knees cracking my ribs
and his hands pinning my arms
to the cold kitchen floor.
A sharp curtain of needles
blankets my cheek
as a hand strikes my face,
causing my eyes to
clench shut.
He pinches my face in his hand,
shoving it to one side and
lowering his face to mine.
I stop struggling,
focusing now on the
stream of blood
staining the perfect
white linoleum
as he hisses
worthless b****
in my ear.

My body now going numb,
I know I can’t
fight him off.
I know
he’s right.