The bruises were my midnight secret.
They came to me in the darkness of the night, after I had put our children to sleep. They etched patterns on my self from the broken bits of the empty bottle. The bottles you had emptied.
They came as I tried to put you back in bed, much like I did with our children. They left the marks of the cigarette that had once died on your lips.
They came as the night came, dark and all-consuming. They left with the morning, as our kids left for school and you, in search of new methods to drown us.
The bruises were my midnight secret. I took them to the grave.
I’m in heaven now. But you will burn in hell for all of eternity.