The Doll

you pulled back the plastic curtain

there was a startling clatter

she was stupefied

your throaty chuckle terrified her

the doll’s crown cracked

a porcelain tile

with her bare flesh against you

the denim of your pants

came to be saturated

as white turned to red

your vision blurred

she barely resisted

in your powerful grasp

echoing in your ears

her outcries of suffering

panic

pleasure

this bloodstained trance

feelings of intimacy and depravity

your hand gripped the doll’s waist

as you kissed her gently

before tossing her aside

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This poem lies very close to my heart; it is one that I consider to be autobiographical. I wrote this poem in the middle of the night during the summer, surrounded by sleeping loved ones