[Like Violence] You kill me

for those gluttons of punishment

The soft echoes of her words.
The quiet trembling of her body.
The slow dulcimer of her moans
all resonate, and
traverse through the empty halls.
The good times.

The nails on the chalkboard screeching.
The spatulas and knick-knacks to the face.
The burnt smell of flesh that
reverberate
all through his senses.
The bad times.

The highs
and lows,
and lows,
and lows.
Fuck it if he
doesn't want it all over again.