Who can be held responsible?
Her honour, rip-wrenched from her,
her skin vandalised with soap and sponge;
her sleep invaded,
aspirations lost in life’s gridlock.
Leaving her guilty, defeated and unloved,
dying backbone of ardour,
hard-bitten ozone of ultra-violence,
misery and despair,
now her forte.
Wearing lustful shackles,
cold but familiar.
©Kemka Ezinwo 2013