'Twas the Week Before Christmas (Poem)

'Twas the week before Christmas and all through my mind
All the mem'ries were stirring -- and not the good kind.

In the depths of my soul, tucked away with great care,
I had stashed them inside in hopes they'd stay there.

The fear I once felt as I lay in my bed,
No longer locked away, it now torments me instead.

My children, in their bedrooms, are sleeping down the hall,
But no matter how I try, I simply cannot sleep at all.

For yet in my mind there arises such terror
I cringe from the pain as if I'm still there.

Away to the past, I am there in a minute.
Rip open my seams, and I'm thrown right back in it.

The blackness of night on my quivering breasts
Searing fire in my loins, but he won't let me rest.

Then what through my tear-stained eyes do I see
But that sorry little shadow of what used to be me.

With those dark, sunken circles beneath both my eyes,
As my silent, lifeless body mutely screams my desperate cries.

More fiercely than torture, his curses they came,
As he hollered and bellowed and called me by name:

"You stupid cunt! Fucking whore! Worthless bitch! Lazy!
You're the world's worst Mom! Lousy slut! Stupid -- and Crazy!"

From the top of my head to the tip of my toe
He degraded, berated, and hated me so.

As grass in the summer heat withers away,
I felt myself shrinking with each thing he'd say.

So up til I left him I dared not complain.
No matter the confusion, no matter the pain.

And then, in an instant, I felt the hot flash,
The snap and the slap of his whip on my ass.

As I gasped for each breath and tried hard not to cry
He threw my body down and spread my legs wide

His bundle of manhood, he flung in my face.
Then he choked me and stroked me in every deep place.

He ripped off my clothes, shoved his hand in my box,
Without waiting for moisture, he just rammed in his cock.

His eyes -- full of evil! His sack full of cum!
I just laid there and prayed there that soon he'd be done.

The sweat on his body tasted like salt,
If I gagged or threw up it was always my fault.

His erratic thrusting made the rhythm hard to follow,
The noxious slime he spewed was impossible to swallow.

I hated his boobs and his sagging beer gut,
That shook when he fucked me and ravaged my butt.

He was more twisted than anyone else,
And I shudder remembering, in spite of myself.

"Go upstairs, NOW!" still echoes in my head,
Those words of his I quickly learned to dread.

His approach, rarely gentle, he'd go straight for my twat
And do what he liked to me, no matter how I fought.

Laughing, he'd say, "You like it like that, don't you!
When I cum in your mouth, you'll swallow it, won't you!"

He'd jump to his feet, and leave me there, flattened,
Then go have a smoke as if nothing had happened.

And I'd hear him proclaim as he staggered down the hall,
You're a half-decent fuck, but you're no fun at all!"