The raging bull came charging at me
He tore my dark blue dress like a lion tears its prey
Leaving not a single seam intact
I could barely hear my own whimpers
My tear wells had dried up
I gave up after what felt like years of struggling
I felt nothing
He took his sickly pleasure by force
While inflicting inhumane pain on me
My afflictions were good music to his ears,
Food for his dark soul
I was a shipwreck,
Only hoping to die
But we don’t always get what we want, do we?
Each time I thought it was over, he proved me wrong
Who knew caresses could be so painful?
Or that kisses could be bitter?
He did it again and again; day and night
Days rolled into weeks and weeks into months
But the Grim Reaper refused to come for my soul
It was as though even he found me worthless
If I had gone to meet my sleeping Maker
Or dissolved into nothingness
I would not have had to perpetually see my oppressor’s face,
Oblivious of the many scars that now marred my once radiant skin
I would not have seen my precious, precious hair look like a bird’s nest
My once pretty face now constantly tinted red and swollen
I would have stopped feeling pain in its most profound forms,
Reliving the torture in my few hours of defunctness each day
Regardless, I lived still
My one-eyed master must have been good at math
He fed me just enough to keep my lungs labouring
And my stomach wailing
He intended to make me suffer in perpetuity
That was probably not a wise decision
Because in the end,
It took one bullet
One bullet from his not-so-loyal pistol
The very pistol whose butt had taken several swings at my battered face
One bullet triggered by my unsteady but resolute hands
And he was down in the dirt where he belonged …
…No, it did not end there
Still sitting in my filthy metallic cage,
Right next to his stone-cold lifeless body
I am about to pull the trigger for a second time
The gun pointing at my own head this time
The Grim Reaper did not come to me
Now I go to him.
