I SPLIT AT 11


It’s an

excruciating ordeal

to lie,

living

in fear,

trust-tainted

for decades

my friend.

I faded,

disappeared,

melted,

dissolved,

got lost,

split at 11.

Can you handle graphic?

Surely,

I don’t want to ruin your appetite,

give you nightmares,

make you feel uncomfortable

but it’s 

a constant struggle,

a horrible fight,

this bloodless battle

to contemplate.

He planted his seed

deep

inside,

broke my soul,

became 

animalistic

and sadistic

on top of me

from behind.

And who,

who do you tell

in the aftermath?

Do I tattle to God,

does He even,

really want to know?

But, how could he?

It would only be,

“He said, he said”

with a mark

upon my head.

I hide yet still 

on occasion

keeping my finger 

off the trigger.

It’s a crying shame,

there’s no one to blame.

They tell me

it’s about love 

and forgiveness,

and gentleness

and balance.

Still,

I must admit,

I cried silently

cheering 

the death 

of those 

sick-bastards

in deliverance.

John Krotec