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.