Content Warning : Do you want to continue?
This poem contains content which some readers may find disturbing.
It is unsuitable for children or anyone who is easily offended.

YES
I am over 18 years old, I have been warned and I still want to read this poem.
NO
I don't want to read this type of content, take me back to the previous page.


deepundergroundpoetry.com

white lace

 
I was raised on a farm, by god-fearing , christian people. church services
every Sunday, in my white cotton dress, simple & sturdy, black patent
shoes, small plastic handbag with two or three pennies in it for the offering,
& the requisite lace doily on my head. and all the future sundays of my
farm-wife life would be exactly like this.

…the sweet & bitter memory of that white lace doily, that protected the
minister’s hand when he blessed me, so that he wouldn’t soil it on my filthy
hair. ‘Filthy as your wicked soul, whore-child!’ which he explained to me in his
secret place, just before he inserted his staff of righteous indignation into
my pink & tender temptation, & the immediate explosion of ripping flesh &
blood, the out of my fucking mind horror scream & the prayer to satan-my-savior
to take me, because eternity in hell couldn’t be this bad…


and it isn’t.    
Written by JohnFeddeler
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 4 reading list entries 1
comments 2 reads 990
Commenting Preference: 
The author encourages honest critique.

Latest Forum Discussions
COMPETITIONS
Today 9:43am by mel44
SPEAKEASY
Today 9:24am by Too_hot69
COMPETITIONS
Today 4:56am by NANCY_RDZ_STORIES
SPEAKEASY
Today 4:15am by Grace
SPEAKEASY
Today 3:33am by DCLXVI_1989
COMPETITIONS
Today 00:41am by Louismatteo349