Wordalmania

xxvii. the fruit of violation

The following poem might be one pertaining to a sensitive topic. It is a poem in blank verse that I penned down in protest of the alarmingly increasing number of cases of sexual assault.

 Read at your whim.

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I recollect it all, the unsurpassable, absolute agony

the futile feelings flooding my morbid mind.

I see your eyes encompassed in loveless lust

and the glistening baneful beads of sedentary sweat,

languishing upon that firm, yet furrowed forehead.

I sense your repulsively clammy, clenched hands

upon my relentless and unyielding besmirched body.

I hear your iron-willed yet garbled groans and grunts

and the blow of the sympathetically wheezing wind.

I resign, look away from your lecherous, ogling orbs,

towards a beckoning utopia without your clamped clutch

upon my resolute, unwavering yet cold curves.

I wince and whimper at your toxic, taxing thrusts

while I gaze away in apathy, from your abrasiveness.

I cringe at your controlling, cocaine induced kisses,

and vainly pine and persuade you for an early, ectopic end.

I woefully watch you leave laughing , loathsome and lewd,

and belligerently discarding me, desolate and deflowered.

I wither and wallow in self pity,  pained and poignant

and lay languidly, laced with sobering soreness and spent.

I excitedly extol, for the carnal catastrophe had calmed

and in melancholy mourn, for it had hauntingly happened.

I now gently gaze upon those very eerily eager eyes,

that had once rabidly raked my fallen physique,

I haplessly, yet hopefully hold the same halting hands

that had once sadistically scarred my fragile skin.

I earnestly embrace the very alike fatalistic figure

that had impassively profaned my scrupulous soul.

For although I dauntlessly despise your erring existence,

I, through ill fated irony, ardently adore our symbolic son

The unfathomable fruit of your unforgivably vindictive violation.

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