No man knows fear til his grave is signed.

“Loving Father”

“Caring Husband”

These are men who stare into the black gates of Hell.

Your caring husband didn’t think twice about turning a clear drink blue.

Maybe you knew, maybe not.

But I’m willing to bet you thought about it when he handed you one too many glasses.

Pretended to be just as gone as you, before seamlessly pulling down tight jeans.

He fucks pretty sober, right?

While you struggle to keep your eyes open,

his movements never seem to end.

But we don’t engrave “Rapist”.

Because respect is what the dead deserve.

Right?

Although he escaped with a sticky sweet label,

“Victim” is scarred into the paper skin across my chest.

I’ll spend my life running, from your “Caring Husband”, your “Loving Father”.