I sense the clouds of tension grow,
counting down the thunder of his growl.
And the first few words, spit; hit;
I'm hurrying for my shelter,
huddling in a corner of my mind.
But my shelter's seen better days
The roof leaks in some angry words,
hurled like hail and leaving me spinning
in a tornado of soaking hurt.
The weakened door let's in a torrent
of confusion and gushing accusations.
I try to ride the boiling waves, terrified,
scared and half-alive; drowning by the vicious currents.
As I despair, the thin walls crumble
and the chilling presence of the wind
empties me of warmth and hope
then catches my cheek in one, harsh, stinging blow.