Her Friday night was not meant to be
behind a dumpster
teeming with broken bongs and second hand textbooks
near a house of pumping blood and bass
She had no plans to have her dress end above
her head and heart
as gone as her mind was
She had been with her wits
Before this
A sleepy obliviousness
where they said these things happen
but it wouldn’t happen to her
if she stayed out of the shadows
and never walked alone
But, statistically
it only needed time
Over again
death as each second passed
the muffle knocking in her ear
and the moan of a crimson ghost
told her
it was her fault
He grappled his hand around her vomit filled mouth
and slipped a foreign object
inside her body and mind
He placed his wet lips against her vibrating ear
and as her body shivered off the memory of her virtue
he whispered
“not all men.”
She said no
many times
As many times as her chest would allow
Just as she’d been told to do
But as she was failed
by gender roles and a ceiling of glass
he said not another word
