[For Day 12 of NaPoWriMo. This isn’t a particularly pleasant one (to say the least), touching on a sensitive topic. One of the tags is Lolita because their ages were the same. Similarity also lies in the crime. And stuff related to the perpetrator.]
A volcano, within, rages
When her mind fills with images
Of what he did, his heinous crime
It hasn’t got better with time
Her gaping wounds are still open
Her heart’s the same: it’s still broken.
Everyone thinks it’s been so long,
They think she should forget his wrongs
But he, his hands scarred her for good
He stole so much of her childhood
He taught her to be so afraid
Of darkness, for there horrors wait:
He crept into her room at night
And so she started sleeping light
She did not know when he would stop
If she knew how she would have fought.
Her silence was that of a child,
A girl helpless, quiet and mild
But now she has a voice, she’ll speak
She’s not as mild, she’s not that meek.
There’s wickedness buried inside
him; inside him his evil hides,
And she knows this for she has seen
him rip her soul from seam to seam.
He choked her with his brand of vile;
He was meant to protect her smile.
Now every time his face she sees
Her fury burns, oh how she seethes.
Alone in all his darkest days,
She hopes his living flesh decays,
She hopes he rots in hell on earth,
In his mis’ry she will find mirth.
No one else will, so she must fight,
She can’t forget that li’l girl’s plight.
In sobs and tears she drowned herself,
What could she do? She was just twelve.
#12 of 30 poems
[I was hesitant about posting this, but then I saw today’s NaPoWriMo prompt. Not sure I would’ve made this public otherwise.]