Stop.

The fighting doesn't stop
The fighting never stops
Not even at one AM when you walk in the door
Drunk off of Jesus Christ.

I lay there
I listen to you yell, scream, pound
Things to the floor and throw things
At the door.

The fighting doesn't stop
The fighting never stops
Not even when your cheery face decides to grace
Our dinner table three hours late.

I sit there
As I watch your face, confused,
As to why you're being yelled at
For not being a mother.

The fighting doesn't stop
The fighting never stops
Not even though you think you're trying your hardest
While your husband struggles to move like a normal human being.

I stand there
I watch you throw away your marriage
Though I know you'll never make it public
To your friends or to Jesus Christ, even though He knows anyway.

The fighting doesn't stop
The fighting never stops
Not even after you apologize for actions
That you don't believe are sins.

I cry there
And once I'm done crying, I laugh in your face
Because I know that the fighting doesn't stop
The fighting never stops-not until you want it to.