she sighed,
not sure if the weight of
his body
or the weight of
the situation
was heavier.
she counted the clouds
out of the window,
a glaze in her hazel eyes.
he ****** her,
there was no love made.
and she loved every second of it.
from the floor
to the counter
to against the wall.
and all she could do was
count the clouds.
all she could do was
count the stars.
one,
two,
three,
four -
oh, and it's over now.
except he isn't done with her.
he grips her chin and
kisses her roughly.
his slick tongue was
the worst feeling she had
encountered in weeks.
but it was all she had.
when she hasn't been sober for days
and all she can feel
is the sharp pain of his hips
crashing on hers,
it feels like her savior.
her messiah,
wriggling his soul past
her lips and down her throat,
much like the words of a so-called "God."
but where was "he" now?
where is God when she's left
broken
destroyed
gripping sheets
trying to grip reality?
where is he when she's
crying for days,
praying he'll take her away?
he isn't there,
because he doesn't exist.
God only exists at the bottom of bottles
or the white lines on her hand-held mirror.
he only exists in the form of boys
holding her down,
not even able to fake nice.
*****.
that was her name.
that was her life.
and all she wanted was
for someone to wipe it all away.