#384 (scars)

Your tongue grew thorns as

you felt for the soft spots in

my sides, scratching, tearing

gentle flesh. Your wish was to

conquer not to caress and your

prey you kept to yourself. The

hurt spread like a bush fire and

even if I wanted you to stop some

parts of me surrendered to this

act of violent passion. The longer

you pricked my skin, opening

old wounds I had already forgotten,

the more I felt that need, that perverted,

squirming snake inside my belly, wanting

you to cause me even more pain, wishing

for myself to be ripped apart completely.

This was the last time I saw you, and I

never even once looked back. Keeping

the memory of that night in a cage, that

I plunged into the darkest corners of my

mind, afraid that one day, the snake in my

belly would start coiling again.


© Matthias Geh, 8th July 2017

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