A poem.


She sits on a train,

Head against the window,

Chest against the wall,

Vibrations filling all of her body.


Thoughts caressing all of her,

whispering that she is a sweet nothing.


Blurred fragments of it all stretch themselves,

Bending backwards to isolate her,

They stare at her whilst she stares through them,

And she shuts her eyes to shut it out.


Abused by the sight of their liberty,

gripped by the words that she tries to run away from.


She feels the pain on her face,

And the lust in her body,

She feels disgrace on her chest,

And the game in her body.


She hears the waste of his mouth,

and breathes the taste of his hell.


She sits on a train,

And the pain sits on her shoulders,

Until all of the muscles are twisted,

And all of her strength is gone.


She is weak because she is with him,

it is all dark because she is with him.


She stares out at the dark green,

Small blobs,

And it makes her want it more,

But she is broken.


She feels her body collapse, 

but her she scrunches up her eyes.


She is the most broken of them all,

And she stares at the trees,

Until her eyes bleed with the sights she could’ve seen,

And her mind bleeds with the thought of him.


He touches her,

Takes her for himself.


She sits on a train,

She is going to nowhere,

She is nowhere when she is with him,

She means nothing when she is with him.


The trees stare back at her,

Sharp pines that remind her of it all.


Interrupted buzz fills all of her,

Vibrates her body,

Hurts her more,

But she is broken.


Her cheek is wet,

Her chest is bruised.


It is nothing to her now,

Her body is shame,

He has made her into nothing,

Her life is his game.


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