Futility and Frustration

Sometimes the bad guys win
And the bloody futility of it all
Casts a shadow over my mind.

Nice girls stay married to abusive bastards,
Playing the punching bag to their frustration,
Unable to see a way out through blackened eyes.

Great guys are stuck with utter bitches,
Bound like a roped and snorting bull
By their sense of duty to a painful life.

I suppose there's two sides to any tale
And relationships are negotiated,
Peace treaties worked out and ratified.

But it isn't much consolation...
As you wring your pillow out each morning,
Having cried yourself to sleep.