The Key Hole

We would peek through the keyhole
when we heard that sound.
The sound of hand meeting skin and bone.
The screams, the pleas
the cries, the moans.
Never ending, never ending.
I could not bear it,
my tiny body shaking with fear
but she, she alone
made me look.
Time and again, while whispering
softly in my ear.
Remember this, remember this
and I would.

About Cassiopeia Rises

I am an artist and a poet writing and living in NYC.
This entry was posted in Poetry, UDPS. Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to The Key Hole

  1. emanita01 says:

    Horror seen & heard by young eyes captured by pen & paper.

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