I used to know a man who killed me once a week; he took me everywhere, but I paid for everything

He took me to the pool where my dad taught me to swim, when I was young and easy to impress. My dad was busy looking at the girl in a white bikini. The man who used to kill me threw me in.

He took me to the room that smelled like medicine and fear, where they removed what is sometimes called “a child"; he showed me a machine that they use for anesthesia. He strapped me down and turned the dial up high. 

He took me to a house made out of broken bone and whispers. He pointed to the floor when I asked why.

Those sweet blue eyes were singing, I’m the last face you will see; he killed me once a week and I paid for everything. 

Even under the gun, you hide that birthmark on your hip. Everything fights to stay alive. He sank his teeth into my breast, in the woods, made me undress; he killed me once a week, but I survived.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.