I came into your room drunk to phone a taxi.

You never interested me, you where never my form of eye candy.

What followed was an encounter that still haunts me to this day.

I say no, long and loud as you push me back and lay on top of me.

You counter my no with an agitated sound:

“My ex is not your friend, she HATES you!”

Comes shooting out your mouth.

I stick to my guns; I wouldn’t do that to a friend.

You counter me again, this time you try to make me bend.

I’m now so scared that the words can’t leave my lips.
I lay there stuck to your sheets, did I actually consent?
Is this really happening to me?

All I can think is that I should have spent the night alone.
I feel sick before the numbness sets in.

My body now resembles a Ragdoll for you to do your bidding.
After, I wanted it to have some sort of meaning.

I started dating you because I was ashamed of just lying there still staring at your ceiling.
I never spoke up about what you did, but I knew deep down.

You wanted to hurt the one you loved but instead, you took my sound.