The echoes of her woes,

they sharpen like the knives of the ones that wounded

her war scars;

they deepen.

 

Some nights she’ll lie awake,

much like the lies that he fed to her through a spoon

down her throat;

she suffers.

 

The demon inside him,

It is the same demon that married her although

now he sits;

without guilt.

 

And now his eyes stay dark,

Without a shadow of the love he claimed, present

In the black-

of his soul.