Her need for excitement

has no bounds–no limitations.

Each night, the liquor provides for her…

Tantalizing sensations.

Painted face, powdered nose.

Fragrance of flower.

She hits the city for a night of needs.

For the moment, empowered.

Dancing around, drowning in the cocktails of apathy.

Her prophecy, fulfilled.

She scans the room for the body —

masculine and thrilled.


Darkness and desire.

The guilt never came.

Just the two of them, together.

Sleep fell before shame.

She wakes empty armed.

He is a stranger, again…

New night is approaching.

She’ll go hunting for him.


She fell deathly ill

before the new night of surprise.

She had such a fever,

and an aching, not recognized.

All of the past was now present:

The rape and the pain.

Now purging what was hidden

while going insane.

Whole bottle of Jack.

A powerful pill.

A letter to daddy:

Her blame for the kill…….



The poem is for the broken. I lost a dear friend to an overdose. He was sexually molested for many years while growing up. He drank and drugged to cover up the pain that was never processed properly, and, ultimately, he took his own life because of it.

Life was just a thrill ride to cover up what was killing him.

Please, if it is the same for you, for the love of God, get help. People love you, and you are worthy of the life that was taken from you by the greedy hand of someone else.












2 thoughts on “Carried

  1. You’ve expressed this so well, Damon. I’m sorry about your friend … it’s so tragic for people to take such an action through despair. 😦

    Liked by 1 person

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