Messed Up

The color of his face
when he attacked.
A symbol of their love
when he was gone.
She was done
She believed every word.
Both eyes black, make-up
heavier than her waist.
Lips bruised, no breakfast.
Another day.
Messed up.
No self-control.
How can you stand
over there, with unclean hands?
Confident and cruel
and measure yourself a man?
She was your cure,
you were her disease.
She was saving you,
you were killing her.

Chestlyn Draghoender is a young South African poet based in Cape Town. His writings have appeared in numerous literary journals, both online and print. Chestlyn has a passion for books and literature. Read other articles by Chestlyn.