His touch.

His touch is like an anchor,
Pulling me down, down.
Down through the deep blue sea,
Until I hit the ground.

His touch is like the water,
Suffocating and strong.
I can’t escape his current,
Although that moment, is long gone.

His touch is like a chain,
Tied around me tight.
For there is no escape,
He leaves me there all night.

His touch is but a memory,
The one I will not forget.
A fact, I did not fight hard enough,
That is my one regret.

His touch is like a ghost,
That haunts me every night.
Two years pass and still I feel,
That horrifying fright.

His touch taints the innocence,
Of a sweet girl we once knew.
And the pain you feel so deeply,
A pain that only grew.

But for poor, sweet girl,
This was not her first.
She knew the horrors of a man,
Knew the terror of their thirst.

Time and time again this happened,
For she could not escape.
Once before, and twice then after,
She fell victim to their rape.

She tried and tried to heal,
Tried to shift this giant weight.
But to put it simply, in a way,
This was the poor girls fate.

Author's Note

thank you for reading!!

Reviews

[Chere]

Wonderful flow you've captured with these line of words. Like many women aboard they can recognize the deep pain of such an encounter or identify it with someone else. Very moving...Thank you !!!