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Warm hands gliding over her body,
Shivering sensations making her a prisoner,
Head falling in the crook of his neck,
His touch made her a whimpering mess.
Sensations grew tenfold,
And so did his power,
How did his loving touch,
Became that of a monster?
Soon she became immobile,
To the love, he had to give,
To the touch, he had to bestow.
She became a puppet,
And all because,
She had loved him.
She willed herself to forget,
But it was he who had made her feel alive,
And so she dies every day,
To the loving memory,
Of his sinful Touches.
~ N
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Silent Screams
Poetry2023 Amby Awards winner | Poetry Featured on @StoriesUndiscovered ___ "Why do you cry, little dove?" "Because the words drowning in my soul cannot be let out." "Why do you think that?" "Because the words spoken can never be taken back, and the word...
