Her Voice Perished in a Brothel
"Don't move! Stay still!" Yelled her customer.
Her hands were chained,
To the sides of the cognizant bed.
She robed with makeup,
That concealed her melancholia.
She used to be drenched,
By the showering cum.
But her unvanquished monster,
Would clasp her unwilling jaw,
Choke her voice,
Till she swallowed all of the seminal fluid.
Derelict to her winces,
He ripped her hymen apart;
Like sporadically peeling off a mango's skin.
I could feel her emotions,
Dribble into the rupturing threads of my heart.
I would harshly clutch my breast,
Till the stifled milk runs free,
As I wanted to be like a riverine.
But was confined to a pond,
Caked with chauvinistic algae.