Innocent

Upon my soul rests still, the weight of tragedy,

A wound of grievous infliction.

For the tragedienne of apathy,

A sinister carnal affliction.

The virgin soul that lived in me,

Was raped by cruel indignity.

A fall from grace, so it would be,

A physical and spiritual calamity.

He wrought upon me the sin of men,

A lust beyond compare.

Above and before, again and again,

Until my fair heart laid bare.

Forced inside; choking, clawing,

Taking that ungiven.

Until the innocent mind withdrawing,

From which love and compassion were driven.

He feast upon my tender flesh,

Until nothing yet remained,

But upon my aching soul express,

The features of a woman shamed.