by Francesca West
Running, stumbling, then seeing…
Darkness in the trees,
The dying of the breeze,
Leaves moving silently.
The orange glow of desolate street lights,
I know this doesn’t feel right,
Head thudding, chest tight.
Shaking, staggering, then hearing…
Sounds of death zooming near me.
Over my shoulders I am peering,
Try to stay out of those clearings,
Then they leave me just as fast
As every car continues to pass.
Heart beating, body bleeding, mind in a race…
I can’t tell what time this will take,
The journey ahead, the one I can’t escape.
Pockets emptied, pants unzipped, boots untied…
Tear-streaked face, loss of pride.
More alcohol is on the way.
I’ll shove these emotions down those empty bottles,
After my feet recover these traveled miles,
Not speaking up was my form of denial.
I kept bleeding, in my head screaming, tears kept streaming…
Because most days I saw their faces,
While the touches, there still were traces,
These memories so invasive.
They played it like a selfish game
In an empty house, with the parents away.
These people never knowing, when back they came,
What kind of hell had taken place.
Believing the home they created was somehow safe
But is a place I remember being brutally raped.