A cut here, a scar there,
Tell-tale signs of old and new.
Caresses, oh so gentle.
Fading love bites,
Sparkling crimson,
Ravaged by cold hands,
Mirroring your soul.
Ah, the darker hues are so in,
My black eye your pick of the season.
Signs of broken trust and hope,
Of broken teeth and bones,
More than I can recall and count.
Cascading tresses, Oh so luscious,
A tender stroke,
A gentle kiss,
A violent pull,
A blow to the skull,
Same difference.
Seldom did I leave,
For I waited for signs,
Worthy of blood curdling screams,
Whilst my silent tears were signs enough,
For me to leave.
A passionate glance,
A punch to the gut,
Took my breath away,
For the first time and the last.
Ignorance is bliss.
Just not always.
Maybe the signs are,
Always.
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