Slut ... Am I

He branded me this when we were young
engraved his initials on the inside of a scar
his left hand kissed with hangnails and promises
of the best doll any little girl could have...

how the years moved on and he still hover
somewhere in the  peripheral of my mind
like this dark shadow forming out of nothing
only to vanish moments later as if he would
always be this ghost haunting me... or her...

yeah ,her more than me because I enjoyed
being his slut , the dark that  shamed her
covered me and I swam in it … took a comfort
in knowing that he would never hurt her so
long as i enjoyed the digs...

the backlashes ..
the rough penetration...
the bruised lips
the rope and rug burns
lipstick smears
down to the ripping of clothes

I enjoyed because if not than for sure she
would have broken somewhere between
the second and third trip inside this bright room...
where he whisper sweet words to get her
trust only to peel away at the layers until
I emerged to embrace his hunger...

He branded me this … his
Slut.... I am ...down to the marks
his penetration left on her
core...