Prose play

You probably didn’t notice the empty bottles of gin on the dresser beside my bed where you fucked me. I guess I can’t really call it rape if you said, “Spread your legs, babe” and I listened. It was hard for you to hold me after that; I was shivering and shaking and crumbling into pieces, and you know, it’s hard to hold a body that’s just pieces. You can fuck my body, but that doesn’t mean shit— it’s hard to hold a body when the hands are silently catching stardust in a daydream.

I had a dream that I was hit by a car on my way to your house. Losing blood wasn’t even what was important about it. What mattered was that I had repressed emotions that needed an escape route. I heard an ambulance in the distance, but I was just fine. I limped the rest of the way to your house and left a trail of blood on the path. Had to let you know that the suicidal thoughts do not glitter; they’re not shards of glass that you feel pressing into your skin. They’re not bright like headlights gleaming in your face while you’re sinking in the passenger’s seat, drowning in the idle talk dripping from the driver’s mouth. Surprisingly, they’re not wet like tears or blood; they’re dried up, and what’s been drained from me has no colour. My thoughts are colourless—they don’t shine.

Pricked you with a fork and looked for your soul’s escape route, but you didn’t fall out; you stayed in your body, and instead I was the bleeding mess on the floor. It was your bedroom floor mess, you called it. I left the vomit exactly how it spilled out— the belly of an angel and her glittery muck. What a mess, you say, what a goddess. It was my brain spat out into physical reminders. 

Someone once told me that every ten years, your body is completely anew, like your cells have died and been replaced by new ones so you’re not the same hunk of matter you once were, but you’re somehow still you because you have your memories. 

8am. park sitting, I am thinking about you. I am thinking about when I was passed out on the couch at the pub and you were putting your shoes on at the door. Your voice was the sound of my favourite record spinning while the fabric of the couch was fading from my touch. With my head fading out of our conversation, your voice was cracking in all the right spots, breaking me in all the right places. One day I’ll see your face smiling in a fogged window from the outside, and it won’t hurt the way it does right now. 
I sit here home now,a hunk of this. Thinking. Looking at pictures. You can swim in the distance in his eyes. You made that distance gallons of water to drown yourself in. Liquid kisses— the sex with the glittering orgasms— your touch was first neon and electric, then it was snowflakes landing on the skin, and now it’s just clouds in the sky.



I try to breathe, but I’m  barely breathing,

I can’t think clearly; i can barely speak.

My mind is filled with needless thoughts.

My cheeks are red and feverish…


I know what i must do,

But i can’t bring myself  to do it.

Instead i jump into a thousand distractions…

Mindlessly seeking the thrill of the ‘anything’,

I cringe at the progress of time on the clock.

And with lips gone dry from an internal hell-fire

I continue to evade what I cannot face.


A letter that Ill never send.

For all the conversations we had, I realize now you never really answered my questions.

When I woke up that night, had no idea where I was or who you were yet i was as calm as can be, you asked me “why I wasn’t scared” & I replied “nothing can hurt me now” you stared at me for a very long time before you said another word. I still to this day wonder what you thought in that moment and why you decided I was your “one”.

What about me piqued your interest or made you feel I was suitable for the role you were looking to fill? Was it my messy state? The fact that I owed you? Was it my blatant disregard for my safety ? Or was it because you knew I had no one that would worry?

I wish you’d told me.

I look back on the beginning and how nice you were to me. So kind full of compliments making me feel like I was needed and it meant so much to me. How did I not know it was a game ?
It became natural for me to want to please you to make you proud of me, to show you how thankful I was.. but was it truly natural for me to transform into a robot? An object, an unfeeling stone.. For you to pour your rage and dislike in to..

I did everything you asked, and more. I let you push me past my absolute limits and break me into a thousand pieces time and time again. I took the pain, the humiliation and degradation. I took it all. Then you picked me back up and “lovingly” praised me , bathed me, soothed my aching body putting me back together only to do it all over again.

That day when I watched you watch me with that man, the anger flashing in your eyes betrayed your calm exterior, and I couldn’t understand why when it was your doing. Afterwards when you would make me yours again all I could feel was relief. You still wanted me. You still needed me to be yours. I had pleased you and that was the best feeling – better than any other high. I loved it!

That day was the day I gave myself completely over to you.
I turned off the switch that made me have my own thoughts and feelings and I forgot about Rosie.

Fast forward 2 years 8 months later You stood in front of me, told me I was free.


I was going to be okay and I was a great girl with great qualities great great great. You kept saying great.
When I dropped to my knees & I looked up at you straight in the eyes all desperate and frightened but you couldn’t look at me.

You walked away.

A letter with instructions to follow, a key to somewhere to stay and a goodbye Rosie, love John.

Rosie.. I wasn’t Rosie! I was your Sub! Your toy, your pet, I was yours. And John? Who the fuck is John!

How could you do this to me?

Even toys need to be looked after.

Was it all a game ? Did I imagine the desperation in you when you had to make me yours after him? Did I imagine the contentment in you as I lay at your feet? Did I imagine the love you showered me with when you’d bathe me and tuck me in bed after a breaking session?  Did I imagine your pride when you’d take me out in my collar dressed by you? Did I imagine how you’d hold me so lovingly while I was coming down from sub space?

Maybe I did.

I know I’ll never get the answers or the understanding I need from you. I wish you knew how I’m suffering still so many months later. How useless and lost I feel.. I can’t stand another second of it. It only stops when I meet “that man” and be of use.

I wish it would stop forever.

Despite everything,  I hope you’re happy Sir and not living a lie. You are who you are and that’s okay, remember that.