In That Room

Yesterday I wrote about being made a porn-toy, this is a prose-poem to that place and time.

IN THAT ROOM

I cannot remember what I saw

Only

Eyes staring into me

Sending each inch of my body into their sex fantasy

Only

Closed doors

Knowing even just dreaming of an exit

Would kill me

Knowing it may never end

Was already killing me

Only

Bodies in, round and through me

Stopping breathing

I may be drowning

But I can never die.

I cannot remember the smells

Only

Semen stinking me

Into thoughts of suicide

Only

Sweat

Maybe fear

Maybe too much fucking into

A pain that has no words

Only

Stale cigarettes and alcohol

Stuff to make it all nothing

Small rewards, small ways

To say it never hurt

Only the

Smell of power

Blocking out any hope.

I cannot remember what I heard

Only

Every time I hear

Reggae

My body goes to

Robot-mode

Or

An anger goes from my

Stomach hitting my brain

Music to

Make it

Normal

Nothing much happening

Only

Words to

Show me my place

Whore

Cock-tease

Fucking bitch

Words to place me

In their fantasy.

I don’t remember what it tasted like

Only

I know the

Semen pouring out of my

Mouth

Anus

Cunt

And whatever hole

Was filled

Only

Taste of blood

Mine or their’s

How could I care

Only

I can’t swallow

With all that tastes

As ghosts

In my throat and mouth.

I can’t remember what I felt

Only

I had to kill all feeling

To be alive

Only

The ripping apart of my

Cunt

Anus

Throat

Stomach

Mouth

Hands

Legs

Forced me

To know

Torture

Hell

And

That I could not die

Only

I felt hate

And

That

Forced me to live

If only

To spite them

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