Drunken Hate [M]

His fingers traced her thigh,
there was a shiver in response.
He wreaked of alcohol, her mind burned with the sight
of his eyes; they were high on things other than
natural life.


No resistance met his touch,
fear of beating fists too much for her to dare
try anything. Her mother always said she was a good girl.
Wicked smile crossed his face,
she wreaked of despise and fear.


Rolled over in bed, emptiness overtook her.
It was easier than the tears, though she was aware
every night like this one was a waste.
Her once beautiful face bruised and sunken
by hidden scars of drunken hate.