Grandfather's Clock

Glass hands tick tock between my thighs. 
Slam them closed so desperately, 
you wouldn’t know these things grew as one.

Bam bam break damned hands.
I want that glass to grind and grind; 
dye those translucent mourners. 

Cling Clang, kill those fingers with my bang. 
Back and forth that fleshy pendulum swings
I’m gonna see what damage this bloody existence can bring.

I like those sexy shards bleeding me dry, 
I’m your piece of prized pig, turn me up, 
I want to feel you slit me open. 

A twisted surprise, you will never know what I feel like inside.
And we’re back again, 
follow the fluidity of my distorted curves,
(same trap, same trap, you’ll die here.)

I’m gonna keep this broken glass disaster between my divide.
I want to bleed, but on the inside.

 

By Hayley McGaugh

"This piece is an exploration of sexual assaults and the feeling of fleeting control intertwined with disgusted routine. It's so easy to lose yourself inside hurt and sadness, and become jaded and closed off to people around you. I wanted to combat the notion of encouraged hiding in shame, and be honest about the nasty reality of non consensual sex."

Venuspoetry, submissionComment