tired, my knuckles are sore, the cycle continues

she called at midnight as mad max hung from his wrists by cuffs on the winch over the thirsty villagers

he went too far this time

she didn’t have to say more, i was dressed and driving and furious

it’s over, i am done, but i worry he will be back

her face a mass of bruises and swelling, she took the pills and went to bed while i sat vigil on the couch

it was nearly four when the rattle of keys in a lock reached my ears

i walked to doorway and stood, shaking with rage, chemicals that feel so normal even after being buried for so long, this part i had left behind now needed again

he saw me and froze

i don’t know what she said

his head snapped back, no more excuses

he held up his hands hoping for mercy

all i could see was her bruises, from this time, the last time, the time before that

would she take him back again, probably

would he ever be able to look at me again

i hope not, at least not without a trickle of piss and the unspoken promise i would gladly spend the weekend in jail

it was four fifteen before i was finished, four thirty before i had his key to the apartment, four forty five before i had left a note saying everything was going to be okay five thirty before i was in my bed

now i have woken, showered and sit still shaking, her text with two simple words

thank you

then the one we both figured to be a lie

it’ll never happen again, i am sorry

if i scrolled up, i would likely see nearly the same thing again, verbatim

i am tired, my knuckles are sore

and i can already feel the cycle beginning again

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