You postulate that I'm only a joke? Slaving in the kitchen whipping yoke.

Your innocent smile as though butter wouldn't melt. I become doubtful after you smite me with your buckled belt.

Tight hands around my neck leaving your mark. The mothers stares in the park.

The hidden betting slips and the odd forgotten casino chips.

Nurtured our young while broke, as you chased your next fix of coke.

Lipstick stained shirt, quietly soaked as my heart hurt.

I don't want to talk. Just want to impale you with my fork.

You got what you deserved. Breakfast was served.

(Photo manipulation art).