one,
two,
three,
four: the thoughts are knocking at my life.
Little dark boy looked away from the teacher;
'just let me see it, i'll never tell
i promise you, i'll even show you mine'
one
two,
three,
four: cut me open and let them out.
the bigger light boy got her under the table;
'touch it, you gotta touch it
I'll touch yours back, i'll even play with it'
you know, it makes me sick to recall these moments, where she willingly let herself be violated, taken for granted and soiled over.
it hurts my heart to remember that she was desperate for attention, needed affection (none of which she ever got)
one,
two,
three,
four,
Fucking hell, she was only four.
dedicated to gashinaxo because her work makes me feel understood and gave me courage to be able to speak up about this matter.
YOU ARE READING
wordlings
Poésiei like words. so i write them. now you have to read them. cover by -daisukii
