punk music playing in the basement
heavy bass vibrating the walls
bacardi in a coffee mug
******* on a tiny mirror
hands on my thighs, *******
the rush sets
hands in my hair
eyes rolling back
he ***** on my neck
i light a cigarette

"my room."
he pulls my strings like
a marionette.
i know this
exchange of goods
very well.
i take another
bump,
eyes widening,
i can finally bear to
see the world.

he eats my ***** and
i feel N O T H I N G.
i gag on his **** and cry.
he strangles me
punches my ****
my *** cheeks
my stomach
he's getting his money's worth
he starts ******* me
drunken noise outside the bedroom door
in perfect rhythm
with the bass
and the headboard
against the wall,
every stroke hurts
my whole body
a wound.

i think about
a distant city
skyscrapers towering
above me like
mountaintops,
somewhere under
lights and stars
where i am happy
to be alive,
anywhere
but here,
this place
where death lives
and waits to catch
it's prey.

he moans
thrusts
shivers
it's over
i wipe mascara tears
take another bump
take another swig
i light another cigarette

he leaves the room
without a word
i follow
two steps behind him
covered in bruises
hickies
marked used
marked invaluable
a group of men
shout names at me
i block it out,
i really don't care
anymore.

this body
was meant for this
this body
doesnt matter
this body
is for getting what
i want
this body
is tired
and sore.