The nightmare hushed.
La lune, she wept for me,
A rough hand.
A harsh touch.
A muffled, helpless scream.
A wake held beneath a thousand stars,
To mourn for my identity.
It slipped away between my legs,
As you jabbed into me.
My gasps unheard.
Tear drenched lust,
How cruel a man can be.
A grunted coo.
A gruff drunk kiss.
A desperate whimpering plea.
Ripped leather began our tryst,
Unwilling dead-spread knees.
Body numb to infiltration,
Limp limbs rearranged with ease.
A rag doll I was beneath your frame,
Your words still churn my guts.
'Amore' no more,
Its you I abhor;
with your grotesque sickening hush.
'Baby please.'
'Just go to sleep'
'Then it will all just seem like a dream'.
I tried to swallow your advice,
And drift to safe naive rest.
I hid behind my tight shut lids,
But I could not ignore being undressed.
The more I begged,
That you let me die,
The louder you started to moan.
A rhythmic growl.
A sweat-stained girl.
A tragic symphony; 'help, please, don't'.
Were you ignorant to my revulsion?
Or was that what you wanted all along?
Was I the first victim of your destruction?
You knew you were doing wrong.
Even now as I lay with a man I trust,
You're right there next to us.
As you came your wet words hissed,
Delusional declarations of love.
When he says it I hear your voice.
When he holds me I feel your clutch.
You are there in my dreams,
And I weep,
And I scream,
And cringe away from his touch.
I exhaled the last breath of the girl I was,
that night in the Parisian air.
So a vacuum was forged,
Where nothing belonged,
Not sex,
Nor tequila,
Nor drugs.
You're a monster, monsieur.
The cruel thief of pride.
But there are scabs on the lesions you left.
I am sorry for her,
The her I was then,
Because she never deserved what you did.
You fucked her away.
She was killed by your rape.
All that I've left is a husk.
Yet my chipped china can be glued back together,
If the artist is patient and kind,
And with each day that breaks,
A detail's erased,
And I am beginning to be glad I survived.
You're a monster, monsieur.
The cruel thief of pride.
But there are scabs on the lesions you left.
I am sorry for her,
The her I was then,
Because she never deserved what you did.
You fucked her away.
She was killed by your rape.
All that I've left is a husk.
Yet my chipped china can be glued back together,
If the artist is patient and kind,
And with each day that breaks,
A detail's erased,
And I am beginning to be glad I survived.
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