True Love

He passed by her without a look,

Carelessly and coldly, slammed the door.

She smiled faintly and kept on sweeping 

An imaginary floor.

And when she spoke, he didn't answer,

Instead, he mumbled: "You're a whore!"

The atmosphere grew even denser 

And she didn't try anymore...

At dinner time, he was just fuming

And for no reason, lost his patience

A simple glance was just enough

For him to throw her against the door...

And as she wiped her bloody lips

Repeating to herself: "I'm fine!"

Awaiting on the shelf, a bottle

Of  good old strychnine.