As the cloth slips away,
She starts to pray.
What you see there,
Will it make you care?

Or will you run,
And find a gun
To shoot right here,
Into my heart, my dear.

I feel your eyes on my sides,
As they slip and slide,
All over and under,
As you shake me asunder.

And yet I ask, “do you see?”
I see burns and scars of the third degree.
Dare you trace the lines,
To learn the stories, which are mine?

Look closely as I trace my *******,
The small supple lumps unlike the rest.
You see back in the day I was small and flat,
As they sneered and jeered and said “what is that?”

Trace the red lines down toward my inner thigh,
From the lonely night when I realized,
That never again would I be able to cry.
That night a small part of me did die.

If you dare to look to my southern most lips,
They tremble and quibble from the bites and the nips
Of a night spent pinned by a man’s embrace
And being forced open for pleasures not graced.

But if you glance at the hole in my chest,
Where a beating heart should rest
You’ll see that it has been taken
By a father whose love has been forsaken.

So tell me truthfully
Tell me quite deeply
Is this tortured naked body worth seeing?
Or shall you run fleeing?