It’s all your fault –

Two a.m. Saturday, volley after volley, he sent her old scar tissue into carpet fibre, and she was an Olympic fibre-tipped scratches-out blood platelets hair-puller
The Past, their Past, that persistent healer-killer, to hate, to indifference, to break-up, and up to The Woman’s Shelter
Now a famous Psychoanalyst’s ‘sadist’ is alone with the omnipotent ‘wife beater’s defence’, and with a back-eye on disregarding failure
And he’s gone downhill since, all dressed-up and chancing happiness on alien Blocks without her, until.

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