WARNING; Graphic and Adult Content This is actually based on memory, mine and of a dear friend, so please, if you're going to criticize my writing, please keep in mind I don't need or want to be smacked. You can pick on my writing. Please don't pick on me. Rape is a horrible thing. Thank you. Accident. On Purpose. Scattered, shattered, smashed. Glass. Jeep, now mangled. Cherokee. Swerved swiftly off the pass. Deep, red blood. Oozing, dripping. From the floormats, to a cactus. Body parts twisted with metal. Accident. Sand mixed with blood. Sand mixed with blood mixed with bone. Sand mixed with blood mixed with bone mixed with hair. There are human fragments everywhere. Tie-dye t-shirt. Lime green and Sunshine yellow. Alien face on the front. Roswell, New Mexico. Left sleeve smattered and spattered, right sleeve tattered with lip, blood and fat. Shoelace. Entangled, entwined with the antenna. It ain't white no more. Intestine and spaghetti-soaked sneaker - hanging, in horror, from the left-rear door. Brown leather patchwork purse. Ripped, torn, split. Make-up spilled like milk. Unblinking blue eyeball stuck on the fake tortoise-shell handle. It sees no more pain. One ear, lobe missing, trapped now on a blank, Scrabble-tile face. The other - sliced off, flew, landed, slid slowly, and stopped - you don't want to know where. They hear no more lies. No more promises that won't be kept. Gashed, slashed. Slimed, lashed skin. Feels no more cigarette burns, no more sudden, soul-burning slaps, no more brutal, 3 am rapes. Tongue, losing color, tastes no more sour booze. Sour booze mixed with Buffalo wing sauce. Sour booze mixed with Buffalo wing sauce mixed with stale cigarettes. Sour booze mixed with Buffalo wing sauce mixed with stale cigarettes mixed with plaque. Delicate, crushed nose. Filled with dark, drying fluids. Smells no more mentally-ill monster, no more of her own pungent sweat, no more of her own unbearable fear. Black Jeep Cherokee. Blonde-haired girl. Broken axle. Broken heart. Broken spirit. Broken mind. Accident. On purpose.
nothing to critique... short choppy fragments reflect very well the fragmented and short life of this soul. excellent visuals... shoelace, tie-dye t-shirt, etc. excellent description of the rape through the sense of smell and taste... sour booze, Buffalo Wing sauce, cigarettes... thanks for writing and sharing your personal story/poem
