Robbers take what we hold dear, not only materialistic things. You broke the typical robber stereotype.
I don’t want to close my eyes anymore. I’m afraid I might find you - again. Robbers don’t necessarily come in the dark. I can still see my reflection in your eyes, pleading. My whole outlook on people changed. I don’t want to see anymore. You robbed me of my sight.
My skin is a living paradox. It is hot to the touch, because of bottled up anger, yet it is cold. It is cold where your fingers once danced graciously over me, like a dancer gliding over the floor. You never told me you could dance. I now refuse to touch my own skin. It doesn’t feel the same anymore. You took my sense of touch when you left.
We went for strawberry milkshakes when we met, just before... Strawberry milkshakes were my favourite. Notice the past tense? I want to confront you about what you did, but I cannot face you. I tried calling to no avail. The words burned in my throat and I became mute. I ended up not saying anything at all. Strange, my voice and my sense of taste left with you.
I can still smell you beside me - roses and regret. I try to avoid roses now. I bought a bouquet out of spite, in a desperate attempt to get back at you in some crazy way. I destroyed it. Nothing came of this, except the realisation that I cannot bare the smell of roses. My sense of smell was taken away by you.
I still hear your voice echoing in my thoughts. The sweet nothing’s you whispered. You were right when you said that nobody will know about this. You were wrong when you said that it wouldn’t hurt, because I’m still in pain. I cannot even listen to certain voices anymore. The more your voice echoes in my mind, the more my hearing fades away. You stole my hearing.
Robbers can be charged with breaking and entering. Why can’t you? Isn’t a lack of consent exactly the same? A simple guy like me, could never trust a woman ever again. You are a robber, and you robbed me of my senses.
Longer piece, not exactly a poem. New to writing.