A Survivor's Story (Part II)

By Anonymous

A couple of months after my rape, I wrote a poem about how he haunts my life. If I would have talked to someone sooner about what happened to me, and let go of some of the pain, perhaps his presence would have been less pervasive. I hope my poem touches those of you out there who are survivors of rape, and encourages you to talk to someone – anyone – about your experience. Don’t be like me and wait. You do not have to be alone.  


In the stillness of the morbid night,
I await his arrival.
Somewhere close by,
I know he’s there… Lurking in the shadows.
Each night he remains hidden until the darkest hour.
Then, he savagely digs himself out from the depths of some hell to torture me.
I hear his heavy footsteps edging closer… closer.
I know he’s there.
I feel his ghastly presence enveloping me.
With every breath I take,
I feel his strenuous heartbeat:
Pounding, throbbing, pumping, surging!
I can hear his teeth, grinding back and forth,
Ready to tear through my flesh.
I sense the warm sweat dripping from his skin,
Forming puddles on the floor beneath me.
I can almost taste the moisture.
He’s there, somewhere, watching me.
I dread his clammy hands, and the iciness of his pallid eyes.
My body shakes and trembles as he inches closer… ever closer.
My eyelids shudder at the view of the sickly beast.
No matter what I do,
I know he’s there.
I see him.
I’ll always see him.
I feel him enter my body,
Penetrate the deepest recesses of my mind, and drain my soul.
He leaves me with nothing but fear, eternal fear.
And yet he’s still there.
He will never let me be.
Not once will he concede defeat.
I am the target, the victim, the prey.
Until I suffer the unbearable,
He will stay.
I know he’s there.


See also: A Survivor's Story PartI