Auctioned

This poem is about a beautiful, young girl, who is raped by a beast.

Auctioned.

In a city full of smoke

And lights, on streets

That never sleep, even

On the darkest nights. 

I saw her move, 

To unseen, lifting beats.

She crossed paths, swaying

To the gentle beat of the unheard drums.

Her mind was a matchbox

Her body, tender,

And her fingers, matchsticks

That travelled through her

Hair, entangling and smoothening

Again and again, in rhythmic progressions.

She danced on the dusty road

To the hum 

Of a melancholy. 

She chuckled.

Gasped.

Moved her lips in unison.

She unfolded, slowly

And then faster 

Slow

Fast

Slow

Crash

Burn

And silence.

Through the smoke

Of the evening winds,

Were the eyes of beasts

Gaping at the fresh fruit.

Its eyes so black

Pinned her like a thumbnack.

It hushed the greedy voice

In its pitch black heart

Hungrily screaming.

It is now ready.

It lingered

Tearing off her clothes

Faster than the light

Shining down upon her.

It had been prying for treasure

Of which it found immense pleasure.

Its hands on her neck

Choked her.

Eyes on the breasts

Pricked her.

Lips on hers

Broke her.

Tyrannical body upon her

Bruised her.

Dirty mud clawed

Under her nails.

Her fingers-

They wore the stone ring

Refusing to break

And her Silver band

Bought at a market

In Ireland

Curved like the waves

Crashing against the Cliffs of Moher.

Pain increased by seconds.

The agony

Was like ripping knives

Like getting cut by a blade 

Like her head being gullitoned

Like bullets piercing her flesh.

Yet, she swallowed it

With bleeding eyes.

Its tongue against her chest

You can imagine the rest.

Touching.

Feeling.

Kissing.

Exploiting.

Violating.

Victimizing.

Stigmatizing.

Depriving.

Destructing.

Her eyes rolled

To the empty blue skies.

Her naked fragility

Entreated its wild hands.

The beasts of the underworld

Broke-in in numbers

And under the stars,

De-flowered her.

Her pleas went with the wind.

Falling down to dirt

Clothes blotched

Blood tinted skirt

This saintly creature

Was ravaged.

Broken glass

Of a beautiful mosaic

Shattered to smithereens 

And remnants

On the dirty wet avenue.

Deserted altars

Broken power

An empty sky

No signs of mercy.

And there she still layed

Wilting.

Crying.

Still begging for help that never came.

Flashes of

Silence

Arcana

Insecurity

Sadistic parameters

Armament of destruction

Now filled her head.

Yet, all she muttered was-

"Why was I auctioned

With this demon to bid?"

Author's Note

I've put my heart and soul into this piece of work. Please feel free to post your opinions.