When the sun goes down

And the moon calls for the night,

The forthcoming darkness

Calls for plenty of light.

 

There comes a wretched figure

From far out of sight,

He trips and falls and stalls

And crawls like he is very slight.

 

The moment he passes through

The flight of slippery stairs,

We wonder if this is yet another day

Filled with atrocities and despairs.

 

We hear smacks and thuds and clanks,

Indicating there’s toxicity entwined,

I rush up towards his floor only

To see his lady walk out fine.

  

But her eyes are bloody red,

My pitiful-eyes look at her helplessly

As he yells, and calls her back inside

To clean his soiled, messy bed.

 

Their relationship seems almost

Decomposed, and nearly dead,

But we cannot be clear or precise

Until something’s boldly said.

 

Nobody knows what exactly

Goes on in that salient floor,

Nobody knows what happens

Behind that stained, closed door.

 

But the day where he walks

Into his house completely sober,

Will be the day where all the noxious

Self-satisfaction will be over.  

 

For better or for sheer good,

The poor lady who is hanging-on,

Should be given a fair chance

To be heard and understood.

 

We’re unaware as to how long will it

Take for him to have an epiphany,

That without his patient, lovable spouse,

All there’ll left is an empty house.