smeared shame

ink smeared onto palms touching smelling of slight rust and the ever present sweat sweat off of a workers back who comes home to find what? his wife sitting watching ellen asking questions why are you so tired? why can't we go out? the worker won't say, how can he say how he works all day and into the night while his wife,his once beautiful,still beautiful wife sits in the leather couch he bought in the gucci shoes she bought from the money he made working through the day and into the night? so the worker just sighs because her beautiful face is full of hate that beautiful face is his face to hate being catholic and having 2.5 kids isn't noble for him anymore. the once happy family is now addicted or hiding the dogs always wheezing and his granddaughters crying so the worker leaves. he leaves to the motel on 4th he wrestles in the sheets its more then just her he wrestles with madness with anger he writes because shame can show but can't be judged on paper.