Don’t
© paddy gillard-bentley
I think back to that night
a dark rainy Thursday in November
crummy run down
apartment building
where you lived
in New York City
the aroma of ethnic food
coming from their tiny worlds
arranged in rooms
600 square feet of universe
The smells drifted into the dark stairwell
in the midst of our colloquial frenzy
spitting truths and lies at each other
sordid and foul
a back drop of graffiti smeared walls
like primitive cave paintings
her face peaked over the rape chain
worried
the key hidden in ample bosom
so you grabbed my hand
and pulled me up the stairs
you kicked
hinges exploded
we stood on the roof
a show down
as if we stood on the Alps
screaming our rage
into the cold rain
your words biting into my heart
after you had blown away
the thick layer of dust
with your sweet words
and passionate sentiment
and I
vulnerable
Then
rough bricks
biting at my back
maybe your finger nails
my feet off the ground
you thrusting deep enough
to wound my soul
struggling to possess me
even the carpet crawlers know
you’ve got to get in to get out
my mind still screaming at you
my body responding
me hating you
loving you
my tongue licked at your soul
like barbed wire
the steel door closes
and you couldn’t see my tears
as they were mingled with the rain
I don’t know why I wanted you to bleed
I don’t know why I wanted you to cry
I don’t know why I wanted you
I don’t know why I wanted
I don’t know why
I don’t know
I don’t
Don’t!
Why do some men want to fuck you
when you just need to be held?
