SIGNALS

His fitting nomenclature for her was Bitch

She felt his pocket

It was to her satisfaction so she accepted

Knowing too well she’ll end in a ditch

Embarrassing garnish on cakes of parties

Was her

All night usage after possession of medicinal potency

And she was the target of unbothered sorries

In minutes of contact

All her friends were made her rivals

He prided in parading his conquests

But she remained the bitch to receive the hurting contact

Anger in contracts

And she was made the punching bag

To release tension and anger

His horrible thoughts were facts

Her womb was his private water closet

He defecated things with hearts in her

And flushed them at will without a second glance

And never thought of any planning set

In short, she was it

His it and she persisted

Until the it couldn’t fit

Into the bin of her seat in the kit

The life was sucked out of her

After a night of high possession of aggression

The master of the bitch saw not

As he forcefully took her precious her

There are signals

There are always signals

Know the signals

And stay on the safest track

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014