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Rated: GC · Poetry · Biographical · #1210051
2 yrs in the making and still not finished---warning, this is about rape
I can feel a presence behind me-the warmth of a body within my
reach, but he is not safe either. I can feel the bottle, cold, inside
me---warm when put to my lips. I hear him as he tells me to
‘drink’….. he chuckles as he asks me how it tastes. I am chilled to
the bone, filled with a cold, I haven’t the words to describe. …It
wasn’t just the bottle- the feel, the smell, the taste—and it wasn’t
just the time he took to fuck my pretty face…
Darkness pushes from behind my eyes and I can see only cyclones
of dirt-Particles of some sort. Pieces of what I believe to be,
…‘me’ I’m lying on that bed, I’m learning that monsters are
real- and I find myself surrounded. To survive was to submit, now
there’s the question of consent? …It wasn’t just the bottle- the
feel, the smell, the taste—and it wasn’t just the time he took to
fuck my pretty face…

I’ve never before seen a sunrise so dark or known a loneliness so complete. My knees grow weak as I start to shake- and I don’t trust my feet to carry me away.…it wasn’t just their fingers that have left my skin unclean- or their words that echo still… so vulgar/ so obscene…
..”oh baby your pussy’s so wet….come’on baby just suck, just suck, suck on my dick”…
….it wasn’t just their fingers that have left my skin unclean- or their words that echo still.. so vulgar/so obscene…..
…..”oh baby your pussy’s so wet…come’on baby just suck, just suck, suck on my dick”….
Their voices made the air seem heavy/thick with spit….the weight of their words kept me pinned to that bed, trapped in my head/they looked at me like they owned me, and I guess they kind of did
…it wasn’t just the bottle-the feel, the smell, the taste—and it wasn’t just the time he took to fuck my pretty face…..

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