Sometimes I can feel the echo of your hands on my skin. Your breath on my neck. I remember that look in your eyes when you looked at me. I spend nights trying to forget it, days trying not to see it in others. I toss and turn trying to remember to forget how you pulled me in like you own me. 
But you didn’t. You grabbed me, pressed yourself between me like tears in a book. My cries, kicks and screams felt heavy within me, but seemed to slip from my mouth into yours without being heard. You literally swallowed my cries.I couldn’t breathe and you didn’t care. You broke me and didn’t care. You ran into my secret garden with your muddy boots and left a wreck. I cried as hard as I could, but you were set in stone, led me to believe desires of flesh can’t be helped, even if it meant helping yourself to a 13year old. 

In just 30 seconds you tore apart an entire human being, took a wrecking ball to my whole life. Pinned to ground, hopping it would swallow me. But against my will, something I was told was beautiful union, became a nightmare. So most times Its not an echo anymore but it’s the voice, being screamed through a mega phone. 

And you, you took everything from me, you made the home of life within me a graveyard, plucked the seed you planted like it was a weed. You left scars on my soul, and they don’t make band aids for that. 

And it’s the wounds without scars that never heal.