I.    the bathroom

for fifteen minutes i wretch over the toilet
after i remembered what had happened  

i run the shower
                        all the way hot
as i wipe my lips of the vomit and bile  
i know not whether it is the memory
                             or the hangover
which induces my reverse peristalsis
but truth be told
it matters not

i step into the baptismal burial chamber
and let the pipe’s precipitation permeate my pores
i must clean
i must clean
i must clean the sin
          clean the sin
          clean the semen

he stood over me with his half-drunken smile
my eyes half-closed
    his fly half-opened
my tongue swollen with ethanol
           could not bid him to stop
my arms weighted with cannabis
           could not push him away
and my mind could not scream
    from its cranial sarcophagus

i sit in the hot-hot
and let the aquarian humour soak my flesh
                                         scald my flesh
i try for hours, days, months to wash the hymen back
                                          to wash him out of me
                                          to make clean
                                          to wreak anew

     he ran his digits down my flanks
     as if to give the air of romance
            to beguile himself to thinking
                  that this was romance
     he removed my final chastity belt
        and forever broke me
        unto himself

i sit cross-legged
ridding my womb of the blood
                             and hair
                             and skin
                             and cum
which poisons my mind
which poisons my soul
which poisons my endometrium
and i try to wretch it all forth from my dead birth canal

II.    the hospital

how was i supposed to know
how was i supposed to know that i needed evidence
                                                                    evidence to prove that i had been torn
                                                                                               that i had been wounded
how was i supposed to know that i wasn’t supposed to desire cleanliness
cleanliness is next to godliness
am i supposed to remain debased

     his claws ran themselves up my shirt
            took for themselves
       hoarded for themselves
     he slowly pillaged my sanctity
        with each invasive thrust
        with each stolen touch

it has been two days
sandwiched between
     this white cardboard mattress
     these resounding machinations
     these blue paper sheets
these blue paper curtains cannot shield enough
i see them staring
staring through these blue paper walls at the scared girl
                                                            the scarred girl
                              at the back corner of her bed
clutching onto her pillow
clamping onto her pillow
     crying into her pillow

how was i supposed to know