I Am Not Invisible

On the floor near the doorway lay Those green polka dot socks that I hate. They mock me, telling me he’s been here, When the crisp coolness of my sheets tell me otherwise. Every night is the same it seems When the bottle is brought out and Shot after shot slips down his expert throat. My hair hangs heavy with preparation My razor smoothed legs propped up on the chair As I radiate need that no fancy salmon dinner can satiate. We, like scavengers, feed on scraps to our fill But I have tired of the lack of fresh sustenance. Shirt and sheets will not stay crisp or cool tonight, And our salmon dinner spoils on the table.