The Beast

DISCLAIMER: This poem is disturbing. And part of some way overdue therapy.


The Beast

He held her tight, she attempted to doze
The air was so cold, but her temperature rose
She cannot move or she’ll rouse the beast
If he wakes, he’ll turn to her for a feast.
Lying in the dark, ignoring her bladder
Wanting to run, but she knew that he’d have her
By the back of her hair if she tried it again
To the face, on the floor, hold her down and then
Don’t move, bitch. I am not done
Then close her eyes & pretend it was fun
Say my name, say you love it
In her face, he would spit
Tears and she proclaimed her love
Internally cursing the lord above
His nails digging in to her wrists
Felt better than digging between her hips
Haha cry bitch, cry you whore
That means you just want more
Her hands pinned, can’t wipe the tears
Her heart pounds, can’t hide the fears
But he sleeps now, she has to pee still
Don’t move or he’ll rouse & she might have to kill
Her spirit inside, while he’s inside her
Pretend to sleep, he mustn’t stir
Her heart pounds, Can’t wake the beast.
Her bladder screams, Or he’ll have his feast.