Help me.
Her cry could be
Heard over
Hills and
Hells, and the cries of
Heathens and
Harlots and ******.
His lips smacked
Hard against each other, already tasting
Her.
His tongue
Had already anticipated
Her neck, the neck that protects
Her voice, the voice that was stolen by cries for
Help, over and over and over again
He invaded
Her body, but crushed
Her spirit, and speared
Her soul.
He didn’t steal
Her virtue.
He stole
Her light.
He smothered it with
His body, covering every inch.
Here is the story of
Her and
Her daughter and
Her daughter’s daughter, and every woman that ever lived.
Here is
Her story.
