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Behind closed doors

Hotter than an oven outside
Hotter than a pressure cooker inside of him
He moved back in bringing with him more than just baggage
It’s hard to apologise for a broken nose
Fists that know only anger
Whatever sob story that is now being sold
Sowed into the fabric of her consciousness
The sun sizzled and baked the pumpkin patch and children ran with water pistols
At the front of the house they are armed with smiles – it won’t be like before

But behind closed doors

He’ll show her more of why he is shattered of soul
Bare his teeth and pick at old wounds his and hers, a sick and twisted savage circle
Round and round and round it goes
where it stops nobody knows

Warm summer breezes, ice-cream weather

Behind closed doors

All is just as it was before

Copyright John de Gruyther 2016

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