She dreaded the sound of the creaking door, His leather shoes banging the wooden floor, His worn out angry sighs.
The creaking made her shiver in fear, The thumping shoes felt like it was stepping on her, The sighs made rivers flow down her eyes.
She dreaded they way he looked at her, The unlocking of his belt with a swift swing, His cruel and disgusting grin.
His look made her question, "Why did you give me away to him father??" The swing of his belt always landed in her, His grin soaked her vim she once had.
Then the beating began....
His fists, the cold leather, his shoes, They suffocated her; making her unable to breathe, Slowly, little by little, she bled her life.
"Maybe I am nothing but a punching bag hanging on the rope, waiting to be destroyed,"