I want to leave you. I don't have a choice.
Wants are choices, honey.
Did I want to get deflowered two years ago?
You said you wanted to.
No honey, you wanted to. I said she wouldn't mind if you did it. My assent leaned towards a shrug. I didn't care what you did with me, until deep down, I did. People told me to want it. People can be very persuasive. Especially when your survival depends on them. But what use is my inner turmoil to you? You wouldn't give a fuck if I screamed 'no!' throughout those two hours. I could recite a fucking Wordsworth in front of you and all you'd hear is 'and miles to go before I sleep'. You wanted it. You told your ears that I wanted it. My sentences meant nothing to you; my lips mouthed words your glaucomic mind couldn't grapple with. They were sandcastles waiting to be trodden on; oceanic currents waiting to be swayed to your whims; my body was a ship, my soul the unwilling slave. You owned the ship. For those two excruciating hours, you fucking owned the ship. How would you care? The slave had to go. The slave was an object. The ship had sailed in the dark for two hours; the slave sailed in the dark for two and a half years. Only this slave thought she wanted to be an object.
Goodbye. The slave has found the guts.
The latch clicked back into place, and a boy was left behind with an empty ship. He would rot by an abandoned bay that night.
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Poetry[On hold] Key: |Straight Brackets| - Poetry. \Tilted Brackets/ - Passionate, Vaguely Poetic Prose or Free Verse. ~Wave Brackets~ - Poetry specifically between 1 and 3 sentences in length. ☆☆ For everyone, Who finds, Not in a graveyard or cretamorium...
