Cold Hands
Here's a poem that I wrote for class. It's WIP at the moment, but I thought you all might like it.
I can't breathe,
The grip of the fucker,
With massive hands,
Squeeze my neck from the spine as push back.
It's a shitty move on my part,
Shouldn't have done a deal with a guy shady as this,
But turning blue was not on my schedule.
As his grips gets harder and harder,
I see clouds,
Like as if God knows I'm fucked at this point.
I start to cough,
Like as if it was going to help me,
Still, I can't control the coughing.
I hear a sound coming from above.
He's grunting.
His hands become smoother.
Something inside me is amazed on how strong I am.
Another part is just accepting that he's getting off.
As I get weaker,
And as the coughing gets stronger,
I soon lose my grip on the guy
And let him do his magic.