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Tamara Fraser Aug 2016
Do you know what it’s like,

to be the hunted?

The pursued;

the object, the target,

the one stalked like wounded prey

as the lights turn off.

You never called off your

hunting parade.

You took advantage of your skill.

You moved on me;

a soundless shadow creeping

along the walls,

clutching fear and regret in your hands

as weapons to




Brutal, savage beast you are;

only I can see those jagged teeth,

razor spikes contouring your spine,

as you grab me from behind.

The darkness colours you,

brings out more than daylight ever could.

It suits you, you and the coal and soot

you shed

in my bed.

Warm, sticky blood you open like a tap.

You rip and tear and

reap your rewards

after such a masterful ****.

You left me wounded, dripping blood

like a grimy trail behind me.

Leaving me more vulnerable to

fresh attack

than ever before.

But there was something worse still;

more terrifying than any shot from your gun.

You left more than a scar, more than

a raw wound.

You left something behind that can’t be healed.

It becomes part of my being,

inserting itself into my body,

protruding it’s toxic spikes into

any future I have;

any future that might involve a lover,

any chance at companionship.

You battered me to a ****** pulp;

a ragged mess no one could ever

risk touching,

without the blood covering themselves too.

It would seep into the sheets between us lovers;

it would attack me quietly, viciously;

It would bring out the worst in me,

and every time I would be forced to save him.

Save him from myself.

Look at what you did to me,

foul, disgusting ghost you now are.

You’re the nightmare I hide.

You’re the burn on my skin I keep in the dark.

You’re the voice I try and drown in rapid

loves, fleeting desires.

You’re my brand. You’re the one who

decides my fate from now on.

You pillaged without consent.

You never even knew what you delivered

or what



The hunted.

That is what I am now.

The weak creature, struggling to


And I can never tell lovers what this

sad, lonely,

aching story means.

What I can offer gets buried in fear.

I can never voice the pain that

rips in waves,

icy and sickly

in my bloodstream.

I can’t voice the remorse,

or the loneliness I shall always greet,

before they flee,

the sound of receding footsteps they beat.
Tamara Fraser Aug 2016
The way you say those words

makes me

fall back in.

The mind games you play

can be so cruel;

causing stings and pulses

surging in my skull.

You’re not an addiction;

I would have to enjoy you, crave you,

need you for that.

No, you are a deadly medicine.

My sickness is loneliness

and you are the drug I take

to cease this episode.

Your domesticated wolf.

I have claws and teeth and all

the things you want to strip me of.

But they are also the features you

long for in bed alone at night.

I can howl and


and whimper at your feet.

Still you trap me in a leash.

I hunt you during the day;

but you chase your hound at night.

I’ve loved you and lost you;

it’s time for me to stalk,

to roam the wilds, free of you.

But you only grasp my mane tighter.

You ***** my heavy, soft fur;

marvel and leer at my savage,

intoxicating form.

You think you have tamed the beast

which means you can own me.

‘See these luminescent eyes?

They’re mine.’

You make me feel the unbearable

weight of guilt;

strapped along my back.

Of trying to stop this imprisonment.

Because it is a hellish cage for us both.

You make me feel all fetid and rank inside;

endlessly making the mistakes you don’t know if

you can forgive me for, love me for.

I don’t want to be dealt the vicious card of villain.

I don’t want to be the murderer.

The internal bleeding I hide,

makes me realise

I have no choice.

Lose you, be loved by you, end you,

all mean the same twisted inky blotch.

I only wish I could have been the one to lunge.

Lunge for your throat.

Rip gashes in the sinewy, tall

master I have.

Tear your limbs from you;

cleave your confidence, your stoicism.

Erase that brutish nature only I can see.

Instead of you choking me.

Instead of the tight noose around my throat.

Before you cut it off and whipped my hide

as I bounded to the closest shadows I could find.

Tamed so much that power was forgotten.

Your domesticated wolf.

— The End —