She lays there in that messy bed
Full of sex stains, with the smell of sweat,
The sun breaks through a shard in the curtains
And dapples light upon her face,
Is this a bed where love was made
A in sensual, consensual union,
No, it’s a bed where sex was craved by a man who chose abusing,
And his wife knew better than to fight back
Her past bruises showed how he’d react,
He comes home from a night of drugs and drink and demands that she
Complies with all his depraved thoughts and his sick fantasies,
He treats her rough, and beats up, whatever gets him off
He treats her like a worthless thing,
And shows her very little respect
And she now believes that he is the best that she will get,
He stinks of booze and his tone is crude
He raped her anytime that she finds a voice to refuse,
And he tells she’s the lucky one, because no one else would ever fuck her
He treats her so worthless, treats her mean,
He does all he needs to control and own her,
She’s his filthy sex toy, that’s all she is to him,
He makes her cook then spits it out and says her cooking is shite
She apologises, because she has lost her self pride,
And he undermines her every chance he can
Then she becomes invisible to him,
She is just her whore and slave in the bed and the kitchen,
And very little else she does truly matters or interests him
He wanted to keep her bare foot and pregnant,
But thank God he has no fertile sperm him
For he is as impotent, which kind of defines his way if life,
He is a loser, a predator monster, and a rapist,
And just a worthless waste of oxygen,
And she hopes that karma catches up on him,
And pays him back for all he’s done to her.
fauxcroft 
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