Bruised thighs
Tattered soul
My tries after tries
To keep it sensible
Death is welcome
Seems dramatic
Feeling numb
His moods erratic
The kids, three
Shocked wide eyes
Bandaging my knee
Their questions arise
The little hands
That hold on tight
Tryin to understand
Why we always fight
Then it bites
Have to leave
Can't have fights
In myself, believe
