So originally I was following a prompt but it didn’t really get as close as I wanted so I’m gonna write a poem for that prompt instead! But here’s this little thing:

My hand leaves the cold metal of my door as I close it and then slump to the floor. It’s all I can do to look at my scratched up, shaky hands—I’m almost in awe, staring at my bare palms. I turn my hands over and my breathing quickens at the sight of blood. _His_ blood. The tremors in my hands intensify. I throw my head back against my door and shut my eyes. With my vision dark, I try to breathe but it only gets heavier as the thumping of my heart grows more overwhelming. Without another moment to think, my whirling thoughts become the yelling and demeaning shouts I’ve endured all my life. Endured until then, until now, until blood splattered on my hands as my knuckles bruised. Endured until the crack of the slamming door left silence only interrupted by my mother’s crying.

To be continued…?