Paths Of Red

I feel it dripping,
and fear grips me:
I cannot feel the wounds
Eyes shut tight
with stillborn hope that he will
kill me this time
Hair twist, yank, vision blurs
choked by tears
paths of red, run warm…
not enough, never ever enough


© W.R.R. 6/30/1993

About W.R.R.

Bipolar & survivor of incest/child sex abuse and adult male rape; bisexual, polyamorist, poet/writer/advocate & married father of four. View all posts by W.R.R.

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