(read forward, then backward, line by line)

I ran.
Not knowing what else to do
There was so much blood on my hands
It was mine
The kitchen knife
Caught in my chest
Guilt
Consumed by
Fear
I was heightened by
Adrenaline
But running on
Wasn’t enough
While trying to stay calm,
Losing control
It was me that would end up
Dead. Because
He was
In front of me
The whole time
It was too late
Trapped
I found myself
Locked in chains
My fate was
Death.

Day 1
it's raining in my room.
it drips from the ceiling
onto my bed
onto my floor

Day 2
it's beginning to flood, soon I'll have no air
the rain won't ever stop
it's like he never cared.
I must turn my desk into a raft,
just to survive.

Day 12
The water is everywhere
I'm close to the ceiling now
and soon I'll drown.
I'm hungry and cold
but the rain doesn't want to stop

Day 15
i know i won't make it through
the night
it's still raining
it's still pouring
there's a hole in my raft
and it's sinking
and i'm still thinking
about you.

Day 1
I see you, you see me, hellos are exchanged.

Day 2
You call me pretty. You ask me on a date. I tell him no.

Day 3
He sees me again, drags me in a deserted alley. I say no. I scream no. I shout, but no one listens. His friends arrive, I resist, I ask them to leave me, but they left unconscious.

Day 4
I wake up naked, in a deserted alley, with my clothes all tattered. I cry, I call for help, no one does. I stand up, walk towards my home, facing the murmurs of the neighbours.

Day 5
I lay unconscious in my shower, from all the crying.

Day 10
I force my legs to move out of the house, only to feel disgusted by the male species there.

Day 15
I wake up to see my friend moving out for she can’t stay with a **** survivor.

Day 18
I force myself again to step out of the house. I cross the street, only to be haunted by their faces, only to feel their voices echo in my ears.

Day 20
I visit the police station. The investigation began. I showed them the bruises. But the police officer’s ***** looks made me return back.

Day 30
I start with my therapy sessions.

Day 65
I had a panic attack again, this evening, when a guy asked me out.

Day 70
I saw their faces again. In that alley. Under my leg. In my lips.

Day 120
I saved a girl today from being *****.

Day 200
I have started having nightmares, again.

Day 250
Today was my last therapy session.

Day 300
I plan to speak up.
Day 301
I visited the police station.

Day 305
They asked me why did I take so long? I had no answer.

Day 307
They came for questioning again. I narrated them the whole ordeal.

Day 309
They started investigating. I still get nightmares.

Day 320
They closed the case, for there was no evidence.

Day 321
I narrated it to my family members, no one believed me.

Day 365
I hung myself.

-@enchantingnachokitten

when i watch you light your cigarette
i wish it was me instead
what a honour
being inhaled by you
id love to dance through your lungs
be inside your body and fill a space within you
but instead i am just myself
you know i'll always be there and
i don't feel like a novelty or a luxury
i am simply just the girl
who's lighter you will borrow
to smoke out the sorrow
of someone else
so much more than me

I’ve never received a flower
Or even a rose
But I’m a guy
So it’s acceptable I suppose
No kisses
Or sweets
No treats
That signifies ones feelings for me
No token of ones love
But I have gotten
Disappointment
Watered with hate
Planted in betrayal
Fertilized with lies
And maintained by fakes
Roses are Red
But my roses are dead
And crumble beneath my feet

i touched your soul
and scribbled my name on it
love, you’ll never get lost again

Lately
I don’t feel close
to poetry.

It feels elusive.
Unfamiliar.
Once it spoke to me.
But now it’s mute.

It sits back
and doesn’t look
at me.

If I call out
it doesn’t hear.

Lately poetry is
like that demon
I used to want
to reappear.