After conciliation, despair

You stand, incoherent,
incandescent in your despair;
halfway up the stairs,
hurling your words like javelins
and I have no shield
to stand behind, no armour
for a hurt that starts inside.

Each fresh cut, that you open in your heart,
bleeds in me.

You slam your door
and call me "BITCH";
sobbing, on your bed,
you pour out your hurt and rage.

I am in a place
where the walls have no doors
and the sound of my voice
echoes, hollow, in my ears.

And each tear you cry burns my eyes,
blurs my vision.

You call this compromise
"defeat"
and blame me for it; don't you see
that there can be no winners,
only the illusion of comfort,
shadows chasing shadows on the wall.

Each time you stumble, every time you fall
I bruise.

Kim Helen James
12/6/95