A COWARD'S QUESTION

Knuckles, cut and bleeding
Scars opened again and again,
Releasing a rage that breaks the spirit
Instead of letting it bend.

Bruises, black and blue,
Staring coldly back at you.
You wonder to Love what it is that you do
That shatters the hope and desecrates
The love that binds the two of you.

Hugs, kisses, and promises mend
The fences for now; but, then,
There is the pounce when the
Defenses are down, proving you wrong,
Whittling away courage's last ounce.

"When did all of this begin?" You
Can't seem to remember.
The love that was so warm is now
Barely an ember.
Each morning after, you ask yourself,
"What am I thinking when I hit her?"