Does he not,
feel my body,
whilst I exist absent movement?
Does he not,
hear this sound,
which seems to echo from the depths of my
soul?
As I lay here,
I wonder,
does he not feel parts,
disengage?
Does he not comprehend,
the inability to be,
whole?
Why shall one seek to take one's,
soul?
Each thrust,
alters the condition of my existence.
Each thrust,
creates an image I shall forever,
picture.
Each thrust,
becomes pain my body shall always,
remember.
Oh,
how I wish these seconds would cease.
Oh,
how I wish he,
would at least look at me.
That he,
wouldnt exist so cowardly.
That he would own up,
to attempting to own me.
Each thrust,
death,
becomes...
©yungb123
Y