The years, the words of fire and ice
Of broken dreams and shattered trust.
The anger, rage; I’ve paid the price
And now I’ve said the things I must.
I found my strength that tearful night
I’m so much stronger than he thought.
I raged, and sent him from my sight
I’ll finally live, now that I’ve fought.
The thing, though, I’ll remember best
Is not the hate, or rage, or lies—
It is his face, so unimpressed
That looked at me: dead, empty eyes.