i feel filthy.
he had his fingers in me
like he was scooping out a piece of fruit.
jammed in, one by one
curling
clawing my insides.
he laughed
as i screamed and said it hurt
"take it, bitch."
he laughed and said
"consider it my birthday gift."
i felt
immense pain
my tears melted down my face
and he thought that it was good.
i felt him inside me
claws like the devil
scratching
begging me to sin for him
but i prayed that night.
i hate religion.
but i prayed.
i prayed for death to take me away
prayed for her to take me and kill me
because if i was a good girlfriend
i would enjoy this, right?
she whispered in my ear but i couldnt hear a word
over the sounds of his laughter.
he pinned me to the bed by my throat
his hand wrapped around my neck with such ease
like tug of war
he choked me until i had tears in my eyes
and blood in my throat
i coughed until i couldnt
and i swore that night
he spit venom into my throat
and deemed me the dirty one.
YOU ARE READING
self hell
Poetryprogression. modern ART enjoy, or don't. i can't tell you what to do. i can only encourage you. you needn't worry about who tells the story you just need to sit down and read the raw, impure, filthily honest tale of anger, love, and greed.
