Her dress was torn to shreds
Knickers, like her nylons also torn and scattered
The bruises on her back told her what she knew
Dried in dirt in her nails just enforced the night in question
The shower didn’t clean
Guilt did that
She slept the sleep of demons
Dark thoughts mocking her entire being
The morning presented the day ahead
Immaculate on the outside
Her presence in entering causing fear
Hated and admired in equal measure
High-powered decisions made
Lives changed forever
She could feel her body tight up against the tree
Felt the excitement as he forced himself inside her
Blood began to seep through her blouse
As the tree bark bit into her breasts
Pleasure, punishment, pain
No more than she deserved
The shower didn’t clean
The blood, the dirt, the guilt, life
It didn’t clean at all.
-
Author:
Paul Bell (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 24th, 2022 04:28
- Category: Erotic
- Views: 21
Offline)
Comments3
I really dig this Paul .. reminds me of something I have written about on numerous occasions over many years .. guilt really can tear you apart, can't it .. Neville
I changed your poem, Neville. lol
Phew!
She'll run the country one day, or the forestry commission.
Powerful words Paul, guilt can be so overwhelming.
Andy
It sure can.
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