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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Drama · #2207896
A deeply dark and personal poem about my terrifying past life as a victim in every way.

Prescot and Main
by Keaton Foster

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Prescot
And Main
Intersecting
Cutting through
Dividing up
Breaking in two
One side I lived
The other I died
Back home
Back then
I was just a kid
There was a man
A friendly neighbor
Across the way
His name
Matters not
His relation
All but speculation
His inclination
Young boys
He was not gay
Just sadistic
Not straight
But rather bent
Damn near broken
A monster
In human form
I knew him
Not because I wished
But rather because
I was forced
A hell of a thing
To be forced
Into anything
Any situation
Or reclamation
My mother and he
Best of friends
So, did it seem
My sisters and she
Doting fools
Playing along
Devine said rules
He was
And dare I say
Still is
A man of God
The preacher
The pastor
A child rapist
But for some reason
Some unknown season
I was his only poison
There were no others
Just me
Just I
I would be sent
Made to go
Across the street
Beyond the divide
Mother would say
Go see him
Do as he insist
As you must
Close your eyes
Pray to your own God
As you appease that devil
You are my child
But in the same guise
You are a sin
A mistake not meant
I broke the rules of marriage
And the convictions of faith
My cheating on your father
You are the byproduct of sin
And thus, a sin of existence
I feel I must sacrifice you
In the name of redemption
If need be disguised
As child molestation
Further she would add
He can clean my stains
By devouring you as his
I’ve never wanted you
But at least someone does
I would go
As told
Across Prescot and Main
To the basement
Of the biggest house
In our hometown
A mansion for one
A prison for the same
There he’d be
A beast in waiting
A man in the mood
For some serious raping
A sick son of a bitch
Hell bent on getting his
I was his kind
Young, weak
And all but paid for
Not with cash
Jewels, or gold
But rather a barter
A sick sort of give
And take
I’d close my eyes
Scream inside
As did what he wished
It hurt more than pain
It hurt more than words
It made me numb
Of everything human
It went on for years
Until one day
A few days shy of my
Last days as a child
He was at church
In the middle of a service
The house was packed
My mother sat in the front
My sisters by her side
I sat in the back
In the furthest corner
I could be shoved
Everyone shouted Amen
As he ended each line
They believed his
Hypocritical lecturing
Of course, not I
He went on and on
Until his face was red
Unit his brow poured wet
And then, just as simple
As it all seems
He dropped dead
His eyes rolled back
As his body went limp
He fell flat on his face
Everyone began to scream
My mother, my sisters
Cried out loud
Of course, not I
I whispered to myself
As I stepped from the corner
In which I was meant

Amen!



Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2008-2019

© Copyright 2019 Keaton Foster: Know My Hell! (keatonfoster at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2207896