He came in the middle of night
slid beneath sheets; hands
groping as he whispered, what
he'd do while stifling feared
screams.

Tears rolled as mind cried out,
crawling inwardly; as life drained
of color, losing self in mist of
dawn when he finally grunted
his own satisfaction.

Laying finger to lips as if, kissing
soul to pleasured damnation,
whispering again to not tell anyone
or he'd do worse things whenever
he came to my room.

In mind I shut self in a prison all
my own; withdrawn as no one
notices change in demeanor, I
suffer nightly...alone...touched