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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=527999" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sullied</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">She plunges into the hot water <br>and begins to scrub. Brush and <br>soap on skin. She wants him off <br>and out of her. Undo him from her. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Unkiss his kisses, untouch his touches. <br>She breathes in. She reeks, stinks <br>of him. He seems to have penetrated <br>every orifice on her body. She pushes </div><div style="margin:10px 0">herself under the water, holds herself <br>there, opens her eyes even the sting <br>brings no purification. She sits up and <br>holds the sides of the bath. Calm down </div><div style="margin:10px 0">she tells her shaking hands and legs <br>but they disobey and carry on like <br>disobedient children in play. She tries <br>to think of other things. Think of </div><div style="margin:10px 0">somewhere nice, some time once <br>enjoyed, some pleasure once had, <br>sipping of the best wine, greedy <br>eating of caviar or grape. But no. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Everything is focused on him and <br>the rape. She rubs and scrubs until <br>she's red and raw. Stop stop her <br>inner voice screams. Nothing is </div><div style="margin:10px 0">what it seems. He pushes his way <br>even into her every thought now. <br>He seeps into every pore. The water <br>fails to clean. She sits there naked, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">undone, brush in hand, hair in a mess. <br>This is not real she says, but knows <br>it is, she in the bath, wet, raw, sore <br>and sullied. Yes that's a word mother </div><div style="margin:10px 0">would have used: sullied. Tainted, <br>tarnished, degraded or as Mother <br>would have said: dishonoured. She <br>focuses on each aspect of her flesh </div><div style="margin:10px 0">as if seen for the first time. What <br>you focus on is your reality. Who said <br>that? Does it matter now? Dostoevsky? <br>The Idiot, that book. Who cares who </div><div style="margin:10px 0">said what. The water is no longer hot. <br>He is still on skin and in orifice in spite <br>of the rubs and scrubs and tears and curses. <br>No longer the innocent, no more the </div><div style="margin:10px 0">sipping of wine or eating of grape. <br>Just him and memory of the rape.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Terry+Collett">Terry Collett</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=527999" data-title="Sullied de Terry Collett" data-description="She plunges into the hot water 
and begins to scrub. Brush and 
soap on skin. She wants him off 
and out of her. Undo him from her. 

Unkiss his kisses, untouch his touches. 
She breathes in. She reeks, stinks 
of him. He seems to have penetrated ..."></div>
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