It started as any other
warm coffee, a call from her mother.
But then it changed
suddenly and silently and so, so deadly.
Not to her body, though it was harmed,
but to her mind.
A soul not ready for the ripping hands and ridicule.
A soul not prepared for the purple bruises and panic.
His fingers reached around her neck,
like morbid necklaces of purple pearls.
His nails caught in the tears of her being:
flimsy fabric forced apart from her fragile frame.
And she could not scream for the pain.
Thunder and lightning and the sound of rain
She feared her mind would implode.
They lay together by a skinny road,
voices mixing
limbs twisting
hair and sweat combining
fists punching
voices silenced.
Until there only was the pounding
of flesh against flesh.
He left them in the dust
crumpled and crying and filled with rust.
Virgin blood touching tainted earth
scarves of scarlet red wound
around their twisted figures along
the pavement.
She awoke from her hell
so he could tell her to get up
walk away, see you another day.
But she forgot how to speak,
When his voice called her in the nightmares:
she forgot how to scream.
When his fingers wound around her
broken lungs she
forgot how to breathe.
His name was Rape.
A bit darker eh?
