Living Hell

circling the drain

caught in the loop of a vicious cycle

drowning in a stream of filth

sullied by an unyielding torrent

she drinks in a living room


in fraying pajama pants

t-shirts too big on her bony frame

wiry hair

she washes only when she manages to drag herself out

nursing the pain of savage years

ravaged by age and a lifetime of disappointments

never did much

never will

goes to sleep drunk

with the smell of bottom shelf vodka clinging to a malnourished tongue

so sickly and jaundiced is she

that her husband can’t tell if its her complexion

or the cheap lighting in their dilapidated domicile

hates him so much she can’t stand it

calls him a fat fuck and

a pussy

tears into him

yet fears him if

the mood strikes him and

he strikes her

she stays anyway

strained relationships on all sides


any critique of her existence or choices

meets with an unethusiastic

“i don’t care”

she’s given up on everything

and everything has given up

on her

says she doesn’t believe

in god

but you can tell she does

wants to die but fears it

for hell may be awaiting her

as she falls into the grave

she never considers that maybe this is hell

that her life is

her torment

locked in a room

with the man she hates

and herself

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