What Rape Is Like
Drowning.
Strychnine.
Self-cannibalism. Scabs. Scarab beetles.
Soul-abortion. God-divorce. Apostasy. Voice box autopsy.
Hydrogen peroxide. Why can’t I scour below the pores?
Possible cracked scapula. I didn’t dare go to the doctor. The X-ray would show no bones like the mirror confesses no reflection.
Broken camera. Slow shutter speed; same photo over and over.
Alchemy. Blood. Heart pumping mud. Black magic. Skin turned to stone.
Slaughterhouse. Should have known better. Should have known better.
Inadequate gravity. The earth cast off its axis; I’m fighting for an atmosphere somewhere in Andromeda.
Return to Volume 6.2
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