The Day I lost My Soul

I lost my soul when these two men came by on a Halloween night. I wasn’t afraid to walk alone, searching for some bathroom maybe close by the festival. They appeared out of no where and grabbed me in the corner of an isolated dead-end. The first one held a knife at my neck, telling me that if I made any sound, my life would end.

I lost my soul that night. Their filthy hands all over me, in my shirt, between my legs, in my pants. Their breath was smelling like alcohol and vomit. I tried to close my eyes so that I could maybe wake up in my bed; it was maybe all about a dream. It wasn’t.

I lost my soul when the taller one forced his dirty member in my mouth, ignoring my gag reflexes, keeping pushing deeper in my throat.

I lost my soul when the second man, the one that was way heavier than me, put his in between my legs, and a finger in my ass. I couldn’t scream. I wanted to live, I wanted to die.

They left me there when they were done, but they stood near all night long so I couldn’t say a word. I couldn’t walk correctly, I couldn’t cry.

I lost my soul and now I want to die.