(warning: TRIGGERS, Mature Audiences Only)

DUST

Dust in your nose
straggling gaggle of kids
racing down the driveway
sand beneath our feet
caressing our bared toes.

Running
up the road
down the hill
through the woods
he meets you.

“Here,” he says, fondling his crotch.
“Here,” he says, dropping his drawers.
“There,” he says as you drop to your knees
in the sand and scrub and pine.
He enters you.

“More,” he says – it’s one dark night.
“Harder,” he says as tongue goes twisting
Dirty hands are grasping your face
you can feel the sand as the dick goes in.

(sighing with pleasure)
Not you, but him
He grasps your hair as he goes in
as you go on
pleasing him
hoping to please him
hoping he has something nice to say.

“That’s enough,” the voice comes commanding
from over your head eyes shut somewhere.
Choking from the thrusting; choking back some nightmare
that then releases
and you let go . . .

“Here, turn over.”
and you do
tears streaming down your eyes
but hidden inside
as you do his bidding
hoping
somehow
he will protect you.

The entry hurts; he uses his thumb
to guide the way.
No lubricant; just spit it
splitting you in half.
And you wince
as he goes in.
And you cry deep inside
but you hide
the tears.

Urine
pours into you
filling your bowels.
He is done.
He is satisfied
but why aren’t I?
Empty feelings
empty holes
filled by his love
only it wasn’t love at all
just a feeling of being used.

You get up
sighing
pulling your pants up
your dress: a short cut set of shorts
cut too high
ragged streamers of thread
white cotton
underwear . . .

And you go on playing
back to playing once again
with this man-boy
who is your friend . . .

Dust in your nose, a
straggling gaggle of kids
racing down the driveway
sand beneath our feet
caressing our bared toes.

And memories like the wind . . .
blowing through your souls
echoing senses of sadness
loneliness inside
just a kid
a kid who tried . .

and died

but still lives
with us, inside.

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