As I sit here writing about you
I can feel your hand slipping up my leg.
The softness of your finger tips.
I can imagine your lips up against my neck.
I can feel you sitting here watching me write
As I lay here I think about you
I can feel you covering my mouth
I taste the dirt on your hands against my lips
I can hear you say "shut up"
I can feel you laying here watching me think
As I drive home I can feel
the pain radiating across
I can see the look on my face in the mirror
I can imagine the disgusted look you gave me
As I drive home I can feel you
On average 321,500 girls are ***** a year. Girls have to live with the pain of ****. Everywhere they go they think about their attacker...
This is a fiction poem.