Twelve; another rape poem — Rhymes with Duck

it was the first time of twelve. the clock’s hand slammed and hammered in the pulse of his desperate, soused breath. my blooming plum wept. they had left the house that day. December’s paternal comfort was long lost in the convoluted patterns of wetness, that which flowed from my mouth- drooling foolishly at the thought […]

via Twelve; another rape poem — Rhymes with Duck

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