Domestic Abuse

Her lips are as crimson as the blood in her mottled veins. His eyes are as black as his dark, ashen, heart of stone. His hands – as cold as his icy gaze – grip her throat. Her feet, as dirty as the ground he’s dragged her across.

Silence, as he lowers her body into the shallow grave.



C. J. was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder when she was sixteen years old, after a manic episode necessitated her admittance to a local clinic.

Her struggle with Bipolar has been challenging, but she attributes her survival to (among other things) her God-given gifts; finding solace in journaling, poetry, story writing, art and music. She is a self-professed chocoholic and coffee addict, and usually delights in both at the same time.

She aspires to one day publish an anthology of her many poems, as well as a memoir of her personal struggles with depression and living with Bipolar Disorder.


© C. J. Spammer


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