The Vase
By: Kate MacDonald-Dunbar
I lived with a monster, who appeared quite sane,
but each drink he imbibed, through the day,
brought out the anger and bile, then his fists
would clench, and start swinging my way.
Was it my timidity that made him hate me?
But then why cry and beg me to stay?
I wanted to believe that he cared for me
so would hold his anger at bay.
One night he became like a man possessed,
strangling me as he laughed in my face.
It seems that a red mist descended,
as I hit him with a large vintage vase.
When he came to the first thing he noticed
was a meat cleaver, close to his throat.
Then he saw my eyes, bloodshot and crazy
knew his chance of escape was remote.
As I leant closer the cleaver moved too,
and bright red blood started to spill.
I whispered, so quietly, “Did you ever think
you'd push me to the point where I'd kill?”
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