And all this for what?

This poem is pretty graphic but it is short. 

Wrenched from her finger,
her gold wedding band,
from a bloodied and torn,
paper tissue thin hand.

Stray coins on the carpet,
lay steeped in her blood.
Brain matter seeps..
in her curls, like black mud.

Twenty pounds has gone missing,
It’s all she had left.
The thug, in his violence,
leaves a daughter, bereft.

And all this for what -
Just a smoke or a snort?
He’s gone  - job accomplished
and gives them no thought.

©  Ann Wilson