Your gaze once filled with adoration and love now sears me with scorn.
When you grab me, your fist is a very real lump at my throat.
I don’t know what to say.
You speak, but I cannot make out your words.
I am more concerned with the grimace your mouth has rearranged itself into.
And your lips actually tremble with barely contained anger.
I am not afraid of you, of your rage.
I am only afraid that I will still love you after you are done.