Did your trauma taint my pen?

[xunpredictablel]

|Title| Did Your Trauma Taint My Pen?
|Rating| R.
|Theme| I had a friend.. He didn't actually rape me, but he might as well have with how badly he betrayed me.

Did your trauma taint my pen?

You laid your hands on me.
My eyes jolted - my hands found my neck in suffocation.
Your betrayal- were you not one to whisper the words of pity for those fools
who so focused on material.
You whimpered my name in the dark and put your fingertips acrost me.
They burned my skin through my clothes.

I can still see the scratches down my back.
Did you like the way I writhed as you tickled me?
Cornered me - where else could I go?
Could I scream? Your mouth covered mine and stole my breath
Like in a dream.

You brushed your fingertips acrost my terrified eyelids.
Your hands! They caught me - uncomfortable.
I danced away from you - ever polite.
But still your hands found me.

I try to breathe but my lungs are filling with blood.

Can you taste it? You held the blade to my fingertips so surely you choke on it as well.

But as I fall under a torturous sleep, your hands cover my body.


Do tortured souls attract you?
You richly-fed monster.

And when I awake, my clothes are in tatters at my side.

A note- polite.

You were okay. I liked you better unconscious. I'll pay for a loss of child if necessary. I might have gone overboard. I apologize. Have a nice rest of your day..

My tortured soul found its victim within you.

Do you enjoy your SICK taint?

I can taste the lust, thick in your throat.


It sickens me - I lean against the wall.
I wretch to the floor, my eyes wide open, as if an attempt to cast away the dark taint.

Your betrayal knows no words.
Resentment builds in my chest.

Hatred, my only sin.
my only solace.

[Alicia's Ghost]

This is amazing (well, you get the idea...). At first I was a little repulsed by the idea of it all, reading through the first stanza, it wasn't as strong as you usually are, and it was a difference that tasted surprisingly metallic in my mouth. The second stanza though, jeez! I couldn't believe it, instantaneously, it was as if you finally got into the groove of letting loose this emotion and your pen ran rampant. It sucked me in, where the beginning was just a hollow attempt at expressing this hurt. I think that trauma did taint your pen... I felt like I knew the nature of this friend of yours as you wrote about it, not just the rape, but the good times, the bad times, the uncomfortable times until it all twisted and broke the bond irreparable. "Did you like the way I writhed as you tickled me?" I felt as if he loved being in control, and you were left helpless before it.

"I danced away from you -- ever polite" and I saw for a brief moment you shying away from reaching hands, but not just hands: intentions as well. His words, his eyes --as if you're ducking away from it all, trying to contain this person's emotions from overwhelming you and drowning you. I can't help but feel that he was the kind that was often overwrought with emotion: he felt something and was consumed by it, seeing through the veil of it. To one who seemed to want such control, it seems to be painful -- and yet he struck out at you --"I might have gone overboard." he cannot marry the whim with the consequence.

It leaves the you in the poem (and perhaps even you, the poet) in fractured pieces, not broken, not really, but any sort of jarring and you'd fall to the floor. Hatred though, what a healing power! More than love, I cannot help but feel that Hatred lets you bully through it all, fixes you up all crooked but whole. I imaged the hatred as a glue, zipping up the lines of scars he had placed on you, sewing tight your clothes, and letting you up. "my sin." -- you know you should let it go, but you cannot. "my only solace" -- the only thing that keeps you going, from being felled by softer emotions.

Not going to lie, I thought this was fantastic, though I feel a little like a brute saying it, since it was born from a personal pain.