your teeth tore at my throat
as my legs
wrapped around your waist
gripped you tight

they were covered in
half-healed crescent-moons themselves
amongst a backdrop of
purple bruises

my screams silenced
became moans and whimpers
lifting your snarling face to mine
your eyes shone like black discs

and I bit your soft lips
‘tween my own bared teeth
right after I had licked them
mewling for mercy

my cheeks were covered in tears
but my heart
hammered in my chest
helpless and hurting and hungry

you fucking animal

my back bears as many red stripes
as your own
grappling for power
we rolled to the floor unceremoniously


you used it to your advantage and
pushed yourself
deep into my heart
again and again and again

so that when I finally relaxed
your final thrust released
so much of yourself
inside me

examining myself the next morning
I wasn’t quite sure
what parts were you and
which were me

and somehow by then
I didn’t really seem to mind

tara caribou | ©2020

Read more like this in my poetry book, Fallen Star Rising.

18 Comments on “Stockholm

  1. As a means to survive, I let her in, time and time again, a hostage, but somehow enamored by the idea of what might be if reality wasn’t so dim. It is an odd sensation, the darkness, the distorted feelings, the paradox, and I think you captured it well. It’s relatable for me on many levels. The closing lines, not being able to distinguish parts is a stellar way to close out this type of write. – B

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks Cassa. That must have been interesting reading. I myself did quite a bit of research and it appears that most psychologists don’t believe it’s a “real thing”… but it’s still an interesting concept.


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