I have this dream that I'm a failed 1940's housewife.
And I can't get this image out of my mind.

I swear I left the iron on,
The sink is overflowing,
The roast it burning,
The twins are crying,
The washing machine is pouring out suds.
And my husband gets home....
It's a mess.

He tries to put me in my place,
Apparently I must be submissive.
He tries to **** me in the kitchen
To prove his possession of me.
I yell and scream and
When he doesn't stop....
The knives were just.....
Too close to my end of the counter.

My lawyer pleads insanity.
I just plead.

It was false,
And you were false hope.

You were small bursts of attention,
With the nastiest of intentions.
You were late drunken nights,
With thoughts that sounded right.
Your words slid down my throat so smooth,
I didn't even realize it was poison.

Don't dangle the antidote darling,
I'm too proud.
I'd rather die than beg.
I'm not the weaker of the two of us.