Control

It was inhuman, what was done to me.
It was brutal, carnivorous, just wrong.
My petrified voice called a stricken plea,
Silence that followed, a perilous song.

A frightened bird rose up, beating my ribs,
Its inside flight a fruitless staccato.
The little wings flapped, flapped, not helping,
Its pitiful body caught in my throat.

My hands were but a tool, to be held down
In such a vice-like grip
That I unwilling became an object,
For degenerate and aberrant desires.

The animalistic body spurred on by Beastly thirst -
Thirst for my young Soul and my young Body
And then - a pause - he contemplated ; his Prey
And wounded deeply this helpless bird

I could not fly away I couldn’t fly at all in
the unsatisfiable maw of the beast but why
is this happening how am I losing losing

control.