belly down then flipped around I can feel his breath grasp the back of my neck.
The hands of a rapist caress my tattered body on his floor of damp cardboard.
With a knife at at my throat, sweat rolling off his face onto mine.
The only thought that I can find, to make this terrible occurrence tolerable,
to get me through, is that, he may not be that different from me.
This is something that he needs, and he was denied it.
I can taste his mangled ora of childhood pain and rejection from so many woman that created this monster that has hunted me.
It was his rejection, that became his creation, and although this is not a excuse for this abuse it does help me see the transformation from this man to a monster that sadly feels this is a victory.
How empty can one man be?
I give him and empathy.
Because of a lack of attention that created this addiction causing him to go this direction seeking satisfaction in a irrational physical need for a place to stick his erection.
Now captured, fearing murder, in his grasp, his being penetrates me.
I close my eyes hoping it is all a dream and if I only scream, perhaps my lover will be there to awakened me.
However I do feel that this is all too real and once the paint peels,
could there be a rapist in me?
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