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and i remember those hands, those hands over me, in me, touching, wanting, but i was numb to those hands but i watched them intently. they moved slowly, the rings on those hands sparkled, the bracelet got snagged on my hair a few times, those hands handed me another beer.
those eyes, i remember those eyes, they were blue and stupid. yeah, they made me think that he was stupid because they were dead eyes. maybe he wasn't stupid, maybe he was smarter than me, manipulated me, maybe he really did rape me, but this i refuse to believe.
those teeth, i don't really remember these, i wasn't looking at them much, but they bruised me, yeah, these teeth- they bruised me because he bit me. so i bit him back and he told me to stop that.
but those hands, i remember everything, i remember the rings and i remember the weird nail and i remember the split knuckles, oh i can see them in my mind, those hands are haunting me, and they still want to touch me- but maybe this time... maybe this time they'll choke me- kill me- maybe this time i'll die-
i remember his knife. i can see it shine, even now, even a month later i can see that knife shine. he never did cut me with it... but he ruined my tights.
i remember those hands. over me. i can't feel them anymore but i remember them, i dont regret letting them... letting him... i dont regret any of it but everyone wants me to be broken over it- and im not. sorrysorrycanthelpitijustcantfeelitanymore- why do they want me broken? because they want me to feel those hands around my throat and think of what could of been- how it could have been worse
but it wasn't... just those dead eyes... in my mind... yeah, but im alive. i survived?
not quite.



------
Briggita M.



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The following comments are for "Those Hands that stroked"
by Glass hair of a virgin bride





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