abuse – Wordsmith: At The Forge

Fractured

By brian francis

I have felt you cleaving great pieces from my being.
Leaving me to care for my wounds, whimpering alone,
Like to toss a canvass over me, to conceal my torture,
Until you again choose to sculpt me yet even more.
I am the rough image you coax perfection from within.
Always becoming what you desire – chiseled pieces fall away.
Fearing that a fatal flaw might be found deep within–
to be tossed away with the unwanted shards of my being.

Copyright ©2021 brian francis

Secret Moments (incest)

By brian francis

Eyes aglow in the night
reflecting the terror within,
Gasps, from horrors unseen.
Guilt, for the lessons of sin.

Tears, welled together to stream,
pool in the sandman’s lair.
A whimper, in the darkness of night,
ending a whispered prayer.

Scars, from the tortures of “love.”
Pain, in the heart and the mind.
Obedient, and still – a rag doll;
fear is the shackles that bind.

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