11? Doesn't Matter

The azure sky was being taken over by crepuscule; 

An affable eleven-year-old; was on her way back home.

Those hands had gripped her tight; 

Their dirty nails dug deep into her skin.

Petrified, she tried to scream, 

Alas! His hand was pressed tight against her mouth.

Fear filled her puppy eyes;

They absconded her into a dark abyss;

The demons pry opened her legs to savage;

Her innocence was robbed off;

While tears rolling down,

The little soul felt agony and despair,

Unable to move; unable to scream;

She lay there motionless;

She watched them savage her ruthlessly.

She knew she was losing this battle.

She wasn’t a child of eleven for them, 

She was a mere toy they could get their lust off; 

The soil beneath her soaked in blood, her clothes torn apart, her soul in shreds.

Their evil laughter filled the dreary air, 

The stench of alcohol and sweat choked her furthermore, 

Their ephemeral lust left an eternal scar, 

But she was just eleven; it doesn’t matter.