Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

i can say this if i call it art

do you remember holding me down on the floor
and blowing cigarette smoke in my face
then spitting on me and slapping me repeatedly?

do you remember tearing my clothes off
and throwing me out the front door
because i wanted to take my children and leave
your sickness?

do you remember the way you would squeeze my throat until my eyes bulged out saying
you cunt i know how to not leave marks?

do you remember saying if i got away from you
you would hunt down everyone i love and kill them and then you would kill me in front of our sons so they would know what their dirty bitch mother had coming to her?

do you remember slapping our boys in the face repeatedly
snot and tears running down their faces when I found you torturing them
because they couldn’t say their abc’s?

do you remember any of that, motherfucker?

i do

and one day i’m gonna come for you

it will be the day i receive a terminal diagnosis

this isn’t a threat
it’s a promise i intend to keep
as you used to say

i still have that hunting knife you gave me
and i’m gonna return it to you
from your groin to your gullet

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