Sanctuary

I offered you sanctuary.

You treated it like a cheap motel.

Spent your days snorting lines of arrogance,

and downing shots of empty promises.

Promises you offered to me,

with shaking hands, in muddied glasses.

And when you walked away,

there was nothing but the echo of your callous laughter,

and no tip for my tears, who were charged with cleaning up the mess you left behind.

*

I offered you a harbour.

A safe place to ride out the storms that crashed through your mind

and flooded your heart with anger.

I gave you a life preserver,

but you tossed it aside

and dragged me into the cold abyss with you.

Kicking and screaming; drowning in your words

until I managed to wrench myself free,

and grab on to that precious life preserver.

*

I offered you peace.

But instead, you chose war.

With chest-puffed bravado, standing on your battlefield.

Screaming boisterously about how powerful you are,

how indestructible you are,

how nobody could take you down.

But when the bullets flew,

when your world of make-believe bravado exploded

like grenades tossed into the foxhole,

you cowered behind my heart and begged for mercy.

You pleaded for sanctuary.

*

So today, once again, I offer that sanctuary.

Sanctuary for the abandoned.

Sanctuary for the defeated,

for the used, the neglected and the utterly exhausted.

Today, I offer sanctuary,

to me.

From you.