The house is silent.
Not a whisper or sound,
As if it’s not weighed down by violent
Nights, muffled shrieks and sobs barely drowned
Out by coarse and callous hands
Forcing mouths shut so the truth would never be found.
A scratchy voice shouting its lewd commands
And the house calmly breathing in and out
While we scramble to meet the voice’s demands.
No one hears as we scream and shout
Till our throat is raw
And then our punishment – I see stars; blood; your face; blackout.
Waking up I knew I never had a choice
Because when I’d fight you, you used to tell me I was brave.
And in these meagre morsels of appreciation I used to rejoice.
I guess there never was much of me left to save
You had already turned me into a subservient slave.
Even before I entered this house, my grave,
It already had a tombstone with my name engraved.
Image – ElissaS83 on Wikimedia Commons with License.