The more he touched her the less recognisable she became.
She was convinced that love had finally caught up with her.
The father figure shoved aside, the pain and pleasure.
He mounted her body to leave her behind.
She looked at him and tried to find herself again.
And he spewed his lies and embalmed her heart with heavyweights.
Pushing her aside, drawing her in, gluing her to his walls.
He made her a prisoner, her body his to enjoy, his body hers to endure.
She begged the morning to come, begged to get up,
But he’d find his way in, dragging her out of herself.
When he invaded her sex there was no room for her.
He needed every single inch of her. Ate her flesh in his bubble.
The mother’s swallowed cries erupted in her stomach.
Her tears stuck to his cheeks, the red lights, the midnight grief,
Yet he took everything he could from her, ransacking and wishing
Away her distorted features, the ingratitude in his eyes.
And she thought that she couldn’t pray to a god that
Didn’t exist in this room. The first thing he ransacked was
Her voice. And with every stab from his sex she’d gasp for air.
Trying to get it back, get herself back, and she closed her eyes,
Pretending that the next day she’d be free, she’d walk out of
The land of subjection and extortion and leave her dead skin
In his empty cold sheets.
Croque-Melpomene 