My love is violence.
Unrecognisable if unaccompanied by pain.
I take it with blood,
The way that others take it with sugar.
I don't know any other way.
Licked from a razor blade,
Or drip-fed by IV,
I can't imagine it
Absorbed through a hug
Or delivered wrapped neatly in a bow.
I was taught to moan for more,
When older men wrapped their hands around my throat
And squeezed 'til I turned blue.
I was taught to find pleasure in fading breath,
Tenderness in tears.
To crave a knife at my throat,
Or a gun to my temple.
Because what is love
If not brutality?
- Author: Spencer Llewellyn ( Offline)
- Published: December 15th, 2022 05:53
- Comment from author about the poem: When I was younger, men so much older than me would prey on me. My first boyfriend was 18 and I was 11, and he twisted me forever. I sometimes wonder if I'll ever know how it's meant to be.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 25
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