I always had to lie to myself

Looking in the mirror, with anger upon my face. I happened to kill my husband, I feel like a disgrace. I cleaned up all the blood, cleaned the knife and blades. My heart is beating harder, thankfully I have closed the shades I have to run away, from what ever else I may cause. What's the point of living, if all you have are flaws. What if your husband bashes you, and you feel you want to die. There is no safe place to run to, sometimes all I can do is lie. I always had to lie to myself, telling me he will stop. But every night he comes home pissed, and hurts me, until I drop. Cuts and bruises are left to see, bones broken but can't get help. Slowly seeking revenge until tonight, and the last thing I ever heard from him was a tiny yelp. He use to be so nice, he wouldn't hurt a fly. Until he got addited, unfortunatley he had to die. He use to bring me roses, with poems that he wrote. He use to sing me lullabies, until I slit his throat. He use to be the nice guy, we lived happily for a while. He never said bad things at all, until we lived in denial. He use to rely on his friends, until they gave him drugs. After a couple he was off his rocker, and his the stash under our rug. He use to come home so druged, he didn't know my name. The next thing he was hurting me, as if it was a game. Everytime he hurt me, I always saved my breath. I waited for the perfect opportunity, to kill him to his death. I try not to remember, all the years and pain. I would rather start my life again, then live in my own vain.