We sit.
We are silent,
except the sniffling
from me,
directed at you.
We fight.
We are angry,
and lonely together
you always
do this, blame me.
You pick.
You are irate,
yelling and cursing
at me,
but what can I do.
I weep.
I am cut to the quick,
I hate that we do this
day
after
day.
But the days
we don't
fight or
yell or
cry,
I live
for those days,
when you say
Beautiful
wonderful
Love.
Some days,
I'm not sure
if the bad days
are worth the good.
