It happened to me.
Statistics.
*That is me now.
I scream and I cry
Into the depths of my pillow.*
*I had not been wearing something that showed me.
I screamed and thrashed.
I am now a*
Statistic.
*Help me.
Rid me of the memories
That play across my eyelids
Whenever my eyes close.*
*I regret every second
Of that tortured night.
And just when I thought it stopped
and the pain was gone
The real pain
Hadn't even started.*
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 9:26 AM UTC
It happened to me.
Statistics.
*That is me now.
I scream and I cry
Into the depths of my pillow.*
*I had not been wearing something that showed me.
I screamed and thrashed.
I am now a*
Statistic.
*Help me.
Rid me of the memories
That play across my eyelids
Whenever my eyes close.*
*I regret every second
Of that tortured night.
And just when I thought it stopped
and the pain was gone
The real pain
Hadn't even started.*
I've been wanting to post this for a while, so here it is. And if you ask, no. I am not going to expand on this topic. This is my first and last poem on this subject.
