I remember the heat of him as he’d
Push up against me, gin-fouled and
Smelling of Camel Wides.
“I love you, baby,” he’d say.
“You stink,” I’d remark.
He’d give the bar-story of a
Thousand words, dripping sour
Onto my breasts as he moved
Closer to my lips.
“Stop, I don’t want to.” I’d push.
He’d pull and snuggle into my neck,
Hoarse-whispering the reasons why I should.
“You’re drunk. Stop.”
“Oh, come on, baby. I love you.”
He’d convince me I owed him.
My mind would Empty. My body would open.
My soul would pour out, dry and brittle,
So over-used, leaving me hollow and cold.
Shame and humiliation would
Enter with him, gnaw at me,
Devour me with sharp, jagged teeth.
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