I seem to be your favorite.
Your favorite pastime,
You favorite activity,
Your favorite game from your large collection.
I don't know why I let you win,
Why I stop fighting you,
Why I let you mark me as yours,
Mark me as your object,
By carving you're name into my skin with your teeth
And filling me with your seed.
I let you stain my sheets,
Stain my body
And stain my soul.
It infuriates me,
Its perplexing, how tightly I am in your grip.
Just like your hand wrapped around my throat crushing me windpipe leaving me struggling,
Struggling to breathe,
Breathe through my night terrors
Breathe through my panic streaks
Breathe through me manic episodes
Though and through and through
And I'm done
Yet I still don't spill your name
YOU ARE READING
Stained Sheets
Short Story"I didn't rape you, stop saying that just because I didn't call you after." Kayse the Savior| 2017 ---- A girl struggling to deal with the trauma from a night that changed her life, causing her to get lost in things that just make it worse. "Yes, I...
