Intestines twisted into a bow
Skeleton, no skin, all bone
Chased into a grave
By someone "brave"

Head cut off, and hung at the hips
Mouth sewn shut, wires in the lips
Promised a voice
In a place of just "noise"

Ears forced down into the pharnyx
Tongue cut off, and swallowed
Chained to the dark
Left with a "spark"

Wasabi poured into each eye
Needles poked into the iris, to dry
Breathing fractured breaths
In the times of "stress"

Fingers shredded in blenders
Toes were sold by the vendors
Broke the rules
To be reduced to mere "molecules"

Heart frozen in ice
Lungs cracked in slices with a knife
Crawling towards a light
Dipped in "fright"

Genitalia, mutilated
Thighs and chest burned til it was disseminated  
Walking into the darkness
Trying to reach the "conconscious"

Frigida glacies

I didn't like the way you glanced,
I didn't like the way you gazed,
l didn't like the way you whispered to
the other man's ear.

I didn't like the comments you made,
I didn't like the vibe you were giving my way,
I didn't like the way you smiled.

But you didn't care
that I didn't like.
You didn't care, who I was.
You just didn't care,
because you stepped close anyways

I don't understand how the victim is the one to be blamed, as the predator goes off easily. The sensitive ones blamed for how they feel as their reaction are blown out of proportion while the predator gaslights and walk off with no responsibility or consequence for their action. Why is that salt is added to wound, trigger pulled on a trigger while the perpetuators, manipulators walk off free. I don't understand why the victims suffer, while the predators are glorified. I don't understand, and maybe by breathing naivety never will.

- To the many things, I fail to understand about this world

For a very long time,
I wondered what was my mistake?
Why me?
What did I do to deserve it?
Did I attract you?
because I never meant to.

But now I realise,
It didn't matter
who I was,
where I was,
what I wore.

Because the person to blame
wasn't me, but you all along.

Pin prickles in my **** hand again;
I should get a handle on this
before I completely forget how to hold things
together
and lose myself in tangled, labyrinth veins.
Sneaky, the past catches up,
grabs me by the throat, but I don't choke;
I don't feel it, but I do feel myself slipping down
into oblivion, further and further from help.
She watches, sinks further into her chair,
further into her shell, leaves before she can be
categorized "scathed."
Reality bit her hard long ago,
and she hasn't left her head since.
But this isn't about her;
it's about realizing the clock still says 12:21am
and only half comprehending
that it isn't "still,"
that 24 hours have passed
and I didn't notice a single second.
I sat here trying to shake off the pins and needles
in my foot
and wondering why I never find myself standing
after another loss.
I shake and quiver and try to breathe,
but I'm too busy holding my breath.
I complain because she could've been saved
but didn't want to be,
but I'm no different.
I'm at a loss for words – idiomatic, idiotic,
how does one explain a literal void?
I write the words, but they write themselves off,
they were never there.
I guess the same could be said about me – never there.
But there's physical proof that I was,
proof that I am not a figment of my own imagination,
though I am a victim of it.
A victim of a withering mind, a wandering heart;
isn't that what a writer is?
After I write this, I will scavenge for a needle
and a spool of thread –
after what's broken is fixed,
maybe I'll stop feeling these incessant pins and needles.

The night sky is blue.
Amaranthine - endless
The mosaic trail left upon my satin skin.
The tinge caressing my eyes,
Which have seen
The devil himself
And yet dare not expose the azure brutality
Enveloped in your venomous cradle.

The waves are blue.
An exhausting struggle I brave
Cyclically
Desperate to subsist
As you seek to drag me
Cascading
To the ocean floor -
Where I embrace my demise at your hands.

Blood flows blue
Yet pours red.
The colour you see each time I dare to pursue escape.
The colour you see
If I am to take too long in the bathroom.
If I am to have a quiet word with my friends
Without your contiguity
Looming like a cloud
Blue
Threatening a downpour congruent with my tears
As I beg them to liberate me
Yet say no such thing.

The lights projected from the ambulance
Pleading with traffic to manufacture a path
As I lay
Helpless.
Blue.
Broken ribs and a broken heart.
Not the first assault and victim to more than yourself
But my forgiving nature
Assures that this is not the final beating.
As my skull is glued and the morphine streams through my veins
And the boys in
Blue
Delicately ask
“Did he do this, again?”
I nod,
Though the officer shakes his head,
His pen moving freely of his hand,
He acknowledges that tonight he will return to his wife,
He will have his meal and pray that his daughter is spared.
And I will return,
To the lair of the beast.

My eyes swollen.
My body imitating scaffolding; bones and skin housing the weary soul.
My hands shake as they struggle to grasp reality.
My cheeks stained by the violent, sempiternal flow of tears.
My ribs, forbidden from healing prior to the next wave of brutality,
Stood at an angle god himself could not manufacture.
My voice weak, desperate, pleading;
Determined.
I beg no one to liberate me.
I, myself, choose to betray your corruption.
I tell my story, though it is not a tragedy.
I showcase, unforgiving - as you were,
The ‘love’ you enforced upon me.
The bloodthirsty way your soul adored mine.
The months of seemingly incalculable assault
Starvation
Emotional torture
****
The autonomy you stole from me.
I want it back.
Instead it lies, at the bottom of your cobalt ocean.
Wrecked and never to be recovered.
Even in exposing you, and hand-delivering my message to you,
That you lost.
I do not regain the life you mercilessly devoured.

Instead,
I must rebuild my own life.
Despite and in spite of you.
Though the blue I once knew was bruised and afraid.
The Sapphire I learn is of unwavering strength, kindness
And peace.
I forgive you,
Though I hope to God that you rot in a place where blue
Seems inviting.

money bought him
the young flowers to
defile
money bought him
satisfaction's
smile

yet his money
bought him trouble
aplenty
for his victims were
well below the age of
twenty

his money will need
to buy good legal
representation
as the New York prosecutors
so desire his
incarceration  

money never purchased
him an ounce of
respect
on his money he'll be
left to endlessly
reflect

My bodies soaked in victimhood,
like a holy bath,
I am baptized in it,
you can smell it on my tattered limbs,
and on my crumbling bones,
blood stained on my hands,
I can’t seem to wash it off,
I’ve scrubbed my body with satan’s hands,
to get the evil off of me,
but I’ve been tainted by my own insanity.