Typically yelling and screaming inuendos 

start these kinds of f***in poems

But aren't you tired of hearing that? 

Reading that?

Because I'm tired of describing it

Let's try one more time

Those hotel beds were good to us when he wasn't

Middle of the night

There's no more screaming

Only rain

Warm, humid, rain

choking the air

Yet it feels breathable

Eminem's Stan is my lullaby

Momma said "f*** him"

That's when the drinks turned sane

When the drugs called her name

When she started to lose the tame

That's when I learned to tuck her

and myself in at night

Snug with my siblings

In those hotel beds