Life Stained Red

A Poem.

Content warning: rape, trauma, sexual assault, blood — and a liberal sprinkling of ‘f-bombs’. If any of that is disturbing or distasteful to you, just don’t read any further.

My life stained red,

A bloody red,

The night I was tossed

Upon that bed.

Life seeped out,

Life seeped in.

I really thought that I was dead.

My life stained red,

A crimson red.

A bloody red,

Soaked into the bed.

Blood red,

Blood red,

The bed turned red.

My whole world

Was painted red,

Body torn and

Body scarred,

Ripped apart as they fucked me hard,

Fucked my body,

Fucked my mind.

Fucked me harder on that bed,

Choked me hard

And fucked me red,

Punched my head until I bled.

Fucked me more,

Fucked me half dead,

Lying there on that blood red bed.

Blood red,

Blood red,

Blood red.

Blood red.

All that I could see was red.

Scarlet sticky in my eyes,

Matching vermillion painting my thighs.

One man left,

Another came,

I was violently raped again.

Again.

And again.

I couldn’t run,

I couldn’t scream.

I floated in a smoked high dream.

I’d drank and laughed,

I’d danced and kissed,

How had that all led to this?

Two boys, so sweet,

Made my heart beat,

Until we got out on the street.

The van was dark,

My hands were tied,

With rope that cut and burned.

Once on the bed,

No boys remained,

No sweetness or care,

They left me there.

A couple of pallets,

And a mattress,

Dirty, dark and cold,

I was driven down dark alleys

And over bumpy stones.

Men took their turns,

To fuck and spoil me,

Kill my spirit if not my body,

Tear and cut me,

Fuck and beat me,

My tears ran red just like that bed.

Blood red,

Blood red,

I cried and bled.

’Til, in the end,

They left me there,

Bruised and pleading,

Sobbing and bleeding,

In an empty park.

“Don’t you fucking tell!”

They said,

As laughing and joking they left again.

They left me there,

Shivering and shuddering,

With shock and pain.

They left me there.

They left me there,

To maybe die,

No longer floating drunk or high,

But broken,

Bleeding.

Bleeding, bleeding,

Crimson red.

Sobbing, scarlet,

But not dead.

Raped and shamed,

I didn’t die,

I did survive,

I am alive,

Blood red.

Blood red.

Blood red.

Blood red.

I didn’t die,

I lived.

Yet somewhere in my head,

I’m still bleeding on that fucking bed.

Based on a true story.

With thanks to Will Hull, who encouraged me to publish lurking f-ing poem after he wrote the piece below:

Thanks for reading!

Stay safe, stay well.