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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem about the cycle of abuse

Submitted: November 06, 2012

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Submitted: November 06, 2012



Not to be Reproduced


He met me in a hell


And his eyes were like cunts

Bleeding with rape

Or mistook opportunities

He spoke of love

With deliberate indifference

And I couldn't help but take his tongue

Inside my mouth

He took me to a colder place

And kissed my wrists

With something like affection

But it was merely

A blade

He boasted hatred

And mocked its lonely enemy

He proclaimed treachery

Over peace

War before redemption

He razed many things

That far flung night

And morning came so late


I brought him to a church


And my eyes were like wounds

Bleeding with knives

Or mistaken identities

I spoke of love

With backward understanding

And he couldn't help but curl his lips

Around my words

I took him to an older place

And licked his wounds with affectation

But it was only


I toasted death

And blamed its doomed opponent

I declaimed triumph

Over life

God over conscience

I praised many things

That hollowed night

And morning came too soon


He raised him in a house


And his eyes were like scars

Stitched with inattention

Or tired regret

He spoke of love

With slight understanding

And he couldn't help but wipe the words

From his mouth

He took him to a bolder place

And lulled his senses with worn attention

And it was nearly

An attempt

He hosted pain

And touched a soulless truth

He claimed safety

Over love

Distrust before contempt

He reappraised many things

That clouded night

And morning came like rain

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