There is no heat in her
fear knocking on her sternum
hard knuckles
His hard fingers scratching at her ribs
through the cage of them to
cradle her heart
Her skin is too soft, shaking vulnerability,
blood pulsing too close of the surface
The strands of her nerves scream out
against his touching
So she hardens, turning her veins
reedy, filled with xylem
instead of blood
Fibers toughening, fingers sprouting leaves she
feels her lungs tighten, lets one last scream
leave her throat
(It makes a sound like a pipe)
And then, even after she has become something
that is not herself, still the rape as
he takes her voice upon which to play
his own music