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Anastasia Snow Apr 2018
I sit there waiting as he walks in
He stands in front of me placing one hand on my cheek the other on my thigh
Pressing his lips on mine
Tangling his hair on my
He strips me down to the bare skin that was bruised and scared
He takes off his shorts ready to mark his territory once again
I try to speak but he doesn't allow it
There is no love in this seemingly passionate scene
I try to resist him
Yet lay there letting him violate every inch of my being
For I've run out of hope
Being to young to understand how wrong it was
Not picking up the clues
When he said this could be our little secret
He closes the door behind him
I lay there paralyzed from the pain
Tears like rivers running down the side of my face
Suppressing the memories in attempt to hide from the pain
To only come back after being forgotten for all this time
Only for me to realize there is no such thing as hope
Certainly not for me
Anastasia Snow Apr 2018
Him
A week ago your sent still lingered on a pillow I still hold.
I held that pillow with all my might.
Tears running down my face as memories came flooding in.
Washing away all the memories I had without you.
Forcing me to remeber the way I loved you and the way you broke me.
Your hands were like fire on my skin.
Burning the places they touch leaving my skin a different color.
Sometimes red yet most purple and blue.
You wanted me yet not the way I wanted.
You forced me to my breaking point.
You pushed me off the edge of limitations causing me to shatter like a peice of glass.
Then he came and picked up the peices you left behing like a peice of trash you had forgot to pick up.
His hands were like water putting out the fire that was still burning.
He turned my skin back to normal.
He wanted me exactly the way I wanted.
He brought me back away from the edge.
I still wnated you though.
I still loved you.
Even thought everything you offered was like a plauge of pain and despair.
I tried pushing him away as if I hated him yet he planted firmly on the ground as if his feet were the roots of a tree that could not be cut down.
He made a confession like the holy bells of a cathedral.
His arms wrapped around me like a sheild protecting me from any harm.
His sent now lingers on the pillow i still hold.
His arms still hold me the way yours never did.

— The End —