Ruins Of My Story

This morning,

I woke up to the shudders, 

Down my spines.

I almost collapsed, 

When your breath neared my collar.

All I could do was, 

Clasp my hands on the sheets.

I gave you a turn

And ran towards the bath.

But in vain,

You got hold of my bangles, 

Pressed my waist against the wall.

Your hands ran down my skin. 

As you got closer, 

All I could hear was, 

You lisping "Sorry for the previous night. I was drunk", 

I could not respond, 

As I stand numb. 

You almost threw me onto the couch, 

And ravaged me all over again.

I felt like a soulless puppet in your demonic hands.

In the heat of that moment,

I dodged over the days,

When we were truly, madly and deeply in love.

When my slightest scars pierced you.

When you even asked before disconnecting the call.

How would you, now, give me cure less wounds?

How did not my wish matter every night you become a tyrant opressor?

When did our spring love become gray winter's lust?

I remember, the first time you did this to me, 

I revolted, 

But the world shushed me down. 

They said, its ordinary, and I was married.

Even my close ones didn't hear my helpless screams.

Since then, 

It happened every day, every night.

I don't feel myself a woman now

Neither do I feel any dignity.

Just an object, 

To satisfy your hungry masculinity.

My heart doesn't even bleed now, 

It has dried up like my tears. 

No one hears my silent screams. 

Only these stained papers patiently hear, 

The ruins of my story.