NINE

The mascara stained pillow, where she’d be lying
Was evidence of hurt, cause she’d been crying
Pictures of him, standing on the ocean’s shore
Were now in pieces, scattered about the floor
The note had read, “I’ll call you at eight,
Be ready by nine, I won’t be late”
Next to the clock that showed eleven-nineteen
Laid a dying rose, and a phone that did not ring
She grab its cord, and jerked it from the wall
And cursed his name as she headed for the hall
To the kitchen, where she found her bottle and glass
The best way she knew to make the hard times pass
As the bottle fell empty, so did her heart
"Tomorrow’s a new day now that we’re apart"
But she’d said it before, every time it’s the same
She loves his control, a player of his game

The house was quiet, Benz parked in the rear
He sat in the jacuzzi, sipping on a beer
He smirked as the phone rang in the office by the den
Wondering which one was calling, insisting it should end
He had everything he wanted, what more could he gain
Taking hopes and dreams, and in return giving pain
She has many faces, and he only one
She possesses many emotions, where he has none
As the phone cries out, echoing “Why me
Please get it over with and set my life free”
He sits and drinks, waiting at will
Like a predator boasting, admiring his kill
Every night is the same just like the one before
She thinks she’s in love, he thinks she’s a whore
Each night she sits by the phone at eight
Being ready by nine, cause he won’t be late
Each night she cries, each night she dies
Each night goes by, as well as his lies