Cold Concrete

My soft footsteps follow in the staggering wake of yours on the frigid concrete. Illuminated by the neon buzzing street lights I can see your stumbling silhouette. You march forward as if your intoxication is a vindication of all you've done. As if your misery is an apology for all those times you let him hit me. Headlights in my peripheral vision remind me of your selfish decision to rip me away from my home yet again. Each car is one of my peers headed to a loving family and a warm home in contrast to this fluorescent wasteland. They have a place where they belong, all I have is the curse of following you.