Blemished Childhood

His practiced fingers slithered

over my body

and drew curves of pleasure,

while his honeyed voice

whispered sweet-nothings

into my innocent ears.

He sang unheard rhymes.

He brought dolls and books.

Along with these, he injected 

something that took me 

to the pinnacle of joy.

What did he poison me with?

I'd never know.

Years later I came to know

that the drawings on my body

had different names.

They were called scars, bruises, and cuts.

How he could inflict pain with terror

is a mystery I am yet to solve.

He's long gone.

His artworks on my body glitter

and remind of his supposed love for me.

I wonder whose childhood

he's blemishing right now.

He went by different names

when he met me each day.

His toxic smile and unabashed stares

never allowed me to ask his real name.

He would always be that vile monster to me.

And I would be one of his

surviving masterpieces,

who would struggle each day

to destroy monsters like him.