Don't forgive his crimes just
because he can kiss them better.
I see his stained hands
every time I close my eyes.
I can’t escape the whispered lies,
they ring in my ears like a constant-
Hush! You wouldn’t want them to hear us.

I still feel his hands wrenching my wrist.
Remember how I wished his grip
Would loosen, if only a little.
Thought of the tenderness love
Was supposed to connote,
as the blood dripped persistently
into my throat.

It was then that I realized.
With nothing left in me,
that anything is better than
Being worshipped, forcibly.