One for the sorrow –
I asked for it, you tell me.
Two for the joy –
by dressing up to the nines,
in high heels and hemlines
cocktails and old boyfriends.
We danced and gyrated and
apparently inflamed you while having
one more for the road.
So, I can see that you think I
asked for it:
for you to follow me into the
inky dark cobbled streets splashed with neon.
I cried in terror
while my dress was ripped open
It didn’t take much for the flimsy material
to give way. for my legs to be forced apart.
It takes two to tango the three minute waltz
as you gyrated on top of me while
gripping my wrists
so I couldn’t scratch or slash your face.
My back clattered against the ground
changing colour with every thump.
and I couldn’t
couldn’t breathe as you…
couldn’t breathe as you pinned me down battering in to me,
couldn’t scream having lost my tongue to terror
as you whispered whore over and over again
like some endearment between strangers.