Bruises bloom on my ribcage;
the shape of your fingertips
etched onto my skin.
The ghost of your hands
grabbing,
clawing,
taking
what was not yours to take.
Guilt settles in my gut;
the image of your face
printed on the inside of my eyes.
The ghost of your voice
pleading,
begging,
forcing
me to give in.
My throat still feels raw from the rage
your mouth captured
before it could escape.
The ghost of your breath
whispering,
panting,
moaning
a name you shouldn’t know.
My whole being feels like its shut
off because you decided
I belonged to you.
The ghost of the others before
wanting,
deciding,
choosing
a choice I wouldn’t have made.
My body feels broken at such a young age
used and discarded
so many times by people like you.
The ghost of my naivety
losing,
submitting,
dying
whilst you all took your time.
White noise rings in my ears your voice cut
off as I retreat into myself
into a spot even you can’t touch.
The ghost of my past selves
biding,
haunting,
waiting
until you all were done with me.
Long after I’ve been released from your cage
long after you’ve forgotten
the innocence you ripped from me
The ghost you and all the others remains
laughing,
taunting,
uncaring
as I bear wounds that will never go away.