I remember the weight.
I remember asking myself—
“Have you ever felt
This much on top of you?”
On your thighs on your shoulders—
Pushing your knees apart?
Have you ever screamed so internally?
I remember the sounds.
His tongue on my neck beating
My throat was shaking.
Hits 96 moaning in the background,
My choking echoing in the bass.
Screams would be preferable.
I remember before.
The drunkenness the smell of weed
And the car horn outside.
The weight and the thighs—
Sounds my neck him beating.
I remember his hand and the fear.
I remember the shaking the blood.
But I could not tell you what happened.
Hannah Gold lives and writes in Chattanooga, Tennessee. She hopes to attend Boston University next fall and study Russian Literature.