PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Tremulous, walking in obscurity,

With shadowy conviction,

Living in a constantly approaching vertex,

Every person a pinnacle of dread,

Every encounter a crime on her being,

Hearing as if deaf, and identity robbed,

An empty shell now adorned in an imaginary,

Opalescent cloak of protection,

In a fantasy of barren survival,

Hiding in the crevices of her mind,

And yet grappling for some sliver of her identity,

The defenses crippled,

Concealed for the sake of conceived unworthiness,

Coveted beneath layers and weeks of schemes,

Lost and forgotten the tender and soothing

Consolation of childish dreams,

Submitting to nakedness,

Yet held at gunpoint by drooling and hungry wolves

For the flesh of a child,

Stripped of all that was once sacred and undefiled,

With such utter rejection and scoff,

Scoundrels from hell feasting upon young supple breasts,

Blindfolded child,

Acquiescence to excecation,

And praying for the end,

Listening to the sound of the shutter on the camera,

As each one takes a turn,

While the other secures the barrel tighty to her temple,

Wondering, running away into the darkness of her mind,

Hoping to live through it,

Trying to make sense of their thrill,

Wondering, why she's not crying,

Yes, trying to make sense of their thrill.

Later in the week,

Urinated on for twenty dollars.