TEAR DROPS

t o u c h

A touch of ghost

A flower un-bloomed

To a graveyard of daisies

Moving lips plead

As you strip her bare

Scorned hands

Slap her for her dignity

Wilted thoughts

And words of lust

Bleed her raw

She cries of pain

Of thorns and cuts

Of bruises and blood

Now she lays unmoving

A second too long

A minute too late

You laugh at her form

The aftermath of your carnal desire

A sin of your demons

And  you leave with a lasting impression

Of every touch a prison

Of every man a red sign

A record play of nightmares

Tranquility and numbness is all she craves

From her mind;

Of jumbled thoughts and scenarios on repeat

Of hope astray and dwindling strength

Of self worth a lost cause.

_

Sanem