The Hell He Made
He holds the knife to my neck,I feel his warm breath on my skin
A feeling of sickness runs through my body as he commits the sin,
He presses his body against mine,
He pushes the knife harder to my throat,
I can feel a layer of skin break
The layer of skin breaks, just like my heart breaks,
As I whimper in fear, he silences me,
He whispers in my ear, 'don't be shy'
All I want to do is cry,
He puts his hand on my shoulder
I can feel the air becoming colder,
The knife breaks another layer of skin
The room begins to spin,
I grab my throat and gasp for air
I turn to him and stare,
I fall like a rag doll to the floor
and as I lay there my blood begins to pour,
I feel faint as my blood begins to drain
I realise this has become my everlasting pain.
Poetry by iZa
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Written on 2005-08-29 at 13:34
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