About rape. If you don't like, please don't read. IT IS NOT A TRUE STORY.
Please don't flame me, as I have warned you. There is no swearing, etc, but
it's just the point.

No matter how I clean,
The memory still remains,
Of what happened on that inevitable night,
How clearly I still feel the pain.

Although I mop and sweep,
The scent still embeds,
I can still feel the floor boards on my skin,
And still a tear I do shed.

I can scrub until my hands turn red,
Until my hands bleed fresh blood,
Until the blood dyes the boards,
Until I bleed and like a flood.

The blood it may pour from within,
But it covers all the marks,
Unhealed bruisers still lay my skin,
And soon they shall come to scar.

Although I clean and scrub my hardest,
The floorboards still hold the memory,
He came, he went, and he made me cry,
To this world, I wish to say goodbye.

I bid farewell to my purity,
For it long went to him,
I want to wash away that memory,
Which still lay within my skin.

So now I scrub and clean the room,
Where the scent still lay,
Where the rug remains crumbled,
From that night where I dearly paid.

And in the room I still sit,
Where my tears stain the floor,
Along with blood and salt,
And memoirs forever more.

I know I shant ever forgive myself,
I shouldn't have opened the door,
I shouldn't have let him take me there,
To the room with dirty floors.

By Siobhan
Date: 22/Febuary/2004