As I carried my happy bunch of Valentine’s roses, given to me with love
I felt pangs of sorrow, knowing what my room mate had suffered,
at the hands of a man I don’t care to know.
He sent her a card and roses, to celebrate
ten years of appalling abuse, that would turn your face blue.
Tying her to the bed, arms above her head,
forced his cock into her mouth, as she tried to scream and gagged.
At the same time he burned her chest and wrists with his cigarette,
turned on by her cries of fear, no breath to shed a tear.
She tears off her vest to show me her chest,
the round right scars too many to count, but it’s not about the amount.
Here on the table she proudly displays, the Valentine’s gift of her torturer.
A sinister reminder of the fact she still remains his victim.
