My uterus has been gutted, scraped raw. Not even the Moon can heal me now.

Waking up with a plastic bag over your head and his hands down your pants. His body shakes as he holds you despite how much you resist it. It wasn’t until his penis was slamming up against your cervix that you realized you still loved him and wanted nothing to do with this.

In ten years I will be fog. You will be the drone that surrounds me.