Toxic Whoresong in allegro

My face twists in anguish  
against my busted lip,  
the half-empty bottle of    
warm Crown Apple    
within arm’s reach    
on the sink    
    
and I’ve never hated who I am more    
   
I worked.    
so hard.    
to be better.    
   
He put his hand    
on the small of my back    
at the graveyard,    
and I needed a ride home.    
   
Prayer card twisted into    
damp cardboard in my hand,    
slow tears dripping for the    
people I lost…    
   
the people I lost    
   
I whispered to him    
that I didn’t    
want to go home    
   
and I promised never again.    
   
If hate and lust    
went to war,    
my body is    
the proof of the battle.    
   
The skin broke on my breast    
when he bit it    
and I touch it tentatively,  
nipple tightening    
remembering    
how I didn’t think about    
you when it    
hurt.    
   
So I made sure it hurt.    
   
We pushed through his door    
like we’d rather    
kill each other    
than fuck,    
his face a nightmare of    
need and loathing;    
   
half bent-backwards    
over his arm,    
with his face in my tits    
I slapped him    
hard    
   
fucking hard    
   
because I knew    
he’d    
hit    
me    
back    
   
and i needed to feel    
as damaged outside    
as I did inside.  
   
We battlefucked    
to the table I picked out    
in a long-forgotten registry    
   
and he crucified me on it    
my arms outstretched,    
pinned by his hands    
hair a wanton sea    
on pale oak    
and I arched into it,    
screaming like something possessed    
screaming for the goddamn fury    
and hate and    
why the fuck and    
just why the fuck and    
why the fuck    
and no.    
no.    
no. no. no. no    
nonononononooooo    
   
I worked so hard to not be here.    
   
He carried me over the    
threshold of his bedroom    
used his tie to    
hobble my hands,    
pushed my face into    
a pillow    
and fucked me raw    
every which way he could    
because he doesn’t want to  
pay my eternal fucking penance.    
   
He does, though.    
I make him.    
It’s the one thing I’m    
ashamed of.    
   
I guess that was your lesson to me:    
   
we can’t stop    
being terrible    
people    
   
and i tried    
so    
hard    
to be a better person    
   
He knocks twice on the door    
and comes in    
takes whiskey    
in his mouth    
feeds me a shot    
from his lips,    
whispers all the things    
I like to hear    
   
And now.    
   
The shower water    
scales my    
too-thin    
bruised back,    
and drains    
pink tinged    
to some    
eternal hell;  
and I shiver as    
my skin turns red.    
   
I just want to know:    
Was it worth it?  
   
Did the art of being    
smarter than the    
smart girl,    
the thrill of    
the attention,    
the sly dexterity    
of getting away    
with it..    
   
Was it worth…    
   
I hear the bathroom    
door open again,  
and bite my hand    
against a whimper    
as the shower curtain    
twitches    
   
He used to be the most    
dangerous man in my life.    
   
But you’ve given me    
perspective.  
   
he only    
hurts me    
on the    
outside.