Breaking point

The kitchen;
Linoleum floors
Speckled with bits of food and dirt
Grimy white cabinets
Hanging on the forest green walls
Not a sound but for the hum of the refrigerator
And the ticking of the clock

And then footsteps;
Soft at first,
Then closer and faster
Then they stop.
She tugs at her deep chocolate hair
Her bold caramel eyes are filled with emotion;
Desperation to resist;
She feels as if she is spinning out of control.
The shoulders beneath her royal blue blouse
Are tense
Waiting for her to reach her breaking point

The ivory skin of her hand reaches for it
The silver blade shines through the grime
Before she can stop herself
She begins to saw at her arm
An insane grin crosses her face
And once the scarlet liquid
Like a leaky faucet appears.
She is ashamed.
She looks for someone to blame.
She sees herself with you
in the frame
on the counter
And thinks
“It’s his fault.”