A Toast To Murder
Squeaking chairs and broken glasses
The aftermath of last night's fight
Again, he came reeking of hatred
That husband I had called my own
Squeaking chairs and broken glasses
Upon my head he rained the pounds
And oh! my bloodshot eyes could see
The half empty glass beside my cake
Squeaking chairs and broken glasses
A toast to murder! cheers to the dead
With hands in cuffs and eyes that bleed
For this wretched life I made my own
@lizdiamondconcepts
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem