May 2019
WARNING. this poem deals with subject matter that may disturb or trigger some people. It was set as a cathartic exercise for me, by a wonderful wise caring writing mentor of mine, to try help exorcise some historical demons, and in doing so, lay some pain and painful memories, nightmares, etc to rest. It addresses child **** and ****** abuse & torture, so I felt a warning necessary, and apologise in advance for any emotions or discomfort or pain it pulls up. I don't usually like to offer explanations of my poetry preferring the reader assign their own meaning, formulate their own emotional response, but had to make an exception here. Thank you for reading, it is often a 'taboo' subject matter, but it needs to be talked about. J.C.x
The Smell of the Monster
It's the smell of a monster,
dressed up as a man
the kind you would smile for,
and extend a hand.
He smells of things longed for,
a confusion occurs.
It's the smell of a day spent
playing at the beach,
of sea, sand, salt and sunshine,
in his tousled blonde hair
like lemon blossoms blown past
on nights summer breeze,
and of the deep dark earth
beneath these trees
It's a whiff oh so small subtle
of pinetarsol and bleach,
maybe that will alert her
to this lecherous leech.
It's of clean skin in sunshine,
it really just smells all wrong,
as he acts out for this child
all that for which his sick head longs
Smell the ******* roughhewn
by his long fingered hands
and the masculine musk
when his limp **** now stands
His sweat becomes acrid
as he applies himself with vigour
smell my tears on my cheeks
as I assume death like rigour,
tasty salty drips
from my cheeks to my lips.
His breath now quick blows
nicotine to my nose,
as he tightens his grip
here I go here I go,
silent calls for my mother
mother, mummy, mum please
and the smell of his ***
was a new scent for me.
Smell now the blood as it drips
down my legs down my thighs,
he has unpealed my screams
deadened my sighs and my eyes.
I can smell my own sweat my blood
and my fear, and now I smell him stronger, as he moves closer near.
Time to clean up this big
mess of me he has made
in the bath filled with bleach,
and disinfectant of pine, imperial leather soap, baby powder and then,
applied Vaseline
to the **** torn clean,
so it's all better for next time
he calls on me,
to return to the horrors
******* to that tree.
For now it's all sweetness, he plays his part well, pajamas and tuck-ins, a kiss on my forehead and then "night night" and one last whiff of his stink, as I lie murdered, in my child's bed
....chasing sleep...
J.C. 13/03/2019.
The Smell of the Monster
It's the smell of a monster,
dressed up as a man
the kind you would smile for,
and extend a hand.
He smells of things longed for,
a confusion occurs.
It's the smell of a day spent
playing at the beach,
of sea, sand, salt and sunshine,
in his tousled blonde hair
like lemon blossoms blown past
on nights summer breeze,
and of the deep dark earth
beneath these trees
It's a whiff oh so small subtle
of pinetarsol and bleach,
maybe that will alert her
to this lecherous leech.
It's of clean skin in sunshine,
it really just smells all wrong,
as he acts out for this child
all that for which his sick head longs
Smell the ******* roughhewn
by his long fingered hands
and the masculine musk
when his limp **** now stands
His sweat becomes acrid
as he applies himself with vigour
smell my tears on my cheeks
as I assume death like rigour,
tasty salty drips
from my cheeks to my lips.
His breath now quick blows
nicotine to my nose,
as he tightens his grip
here I go here I go,
silent calls for my mother
mother, mummy, mum please
and the smell of his ***
was a new scent for me.
Smell now the blood as it drips
down my legs down my thighs,
he has unpealed my screams
deadened my sighs and my eyes.
I can smell my own sweat my blood
and my fear, and now I smell him stronger, as he moves closer near.
Time to clean up this big
mess of me he has made
in the bath filled with bleach,
and disinfectant of pine, imperial leather soap, baby powder and then,
applied Vaseline
to the **** torn clean,
so it's all better for next time
he calls on me,
to return to the horrors
******* to that tree.
For now it's all sweetness, he plays his part well, pajamas and tuck-ins, a kiss on my forehead and then "night night" and one last whiff of his stink, as I lie murdered, in my child's bed
....chasing sleep...
J.C. 13/03/2019.
