Four

You should have stopped when I said stop.

But you didn’t.

Did you?

Were my words too slurred

for you to hear me?

or

did you just choose to ignore

the taste of liquor on my tongue?

Your voice echoed

"30 more seconds"

Three eerie whispers:

much louder than

what might as well have been my silence.

"Just a little more" you demanded

as if "little" and "more" carry the same meaning.

My eyes were closed.

Forgetting,

just for a minute.

Then I saw you standing over me

with my mistake in your hand.

A patch of revulsion on my back.

As if you hadn’t already violated my body.

My eyes were closed.

Forgetting,

for as long as I could.

Four days a blur.

A heavy morning:

displayed on the table was

18x the considerately recommended dose.

My poisoned legs dragged

across the pavement –

the view a slow motion swing.

Claustrophobic chaos,

sweaty,

body to body,

unable to breathe.

A lump in my throat,

a bittersweet taste in my mouth.

One stop away

from where I needed to be.

But I didn’t make it.

I charged through the doors

miserably attempting to stumble

up those stairs.

But I didn’t make it.

A pungent stream

of hurt

fear

disgust

hatred

shame

escaping out of my body.

The constellation of pills

winked at me and faded

and all that was left was

midnight.

For years

I prayed for no light.

My eyes were closed.

Forgetting.

And I did.

For years

I didn’t know it was wrong.

It didn’t matter

because I started it.

Right?

Because I didn’t say no

when you invaded me.

But I said stop between each breath.

Didn’t I?

The feeling still lingers.

I can feel you climbing into my body.

I can feel the pleasure

which makes my stomach turn

because it wasn't pleasurable.

Not one bit.

Four years.

Now I get to see you where you belong.

I only hoped you would have been there sooner.