Another about the Two

Violence lessons at nine
and pleasure stripped
from intimacy and love.

Rape in repeated succession -
these visions to spring to mind
at the most inconvenient times.

Two of my parts collide,
one that is the purest part of me,
the other, some foreign part
who whispers in my ear
things to do to make him scream.

One part carries all my dreams
of honed and intimate romance,
while the other part vies with desire
to rip up flesh into a bloody mess.

Not truly separated, not split,
just hidden and quiet in sober light.
She emerges like a thorn through silk
when inebriated nights beckon.
She remembers the lessons
and uses them expertly,
for a rush of power
the performance will give her.

There's one silver thread, so thin,
of the horror that clouds
my life in repetitive pain,
and that thread is this pleasure.