It's on You

As I look at my image in the blade
of my knife,
the flashbacks of what he did run through my head;
him pinning me to the bed
as he pulled back his arm with belt in hand.
The blows hurt at first,
but soon I am numb.
The tears no longer flow.
The welts, bruises, and cuts he left weren't permanent.
But the marks he left in my soul,
they last forever.
A belt used as a whip,
where's the love in that?
No one will ever hit me again.
The blood that I spill today
shall be his doing.
My face will haunt his dreams
until his dying breath.