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“Don’t worry. We’re not fucking right now.”
You said it as if I couldn’t feel you thrusting.
“It’s ok, I’m almost done,” you whispered.

Why does, “it’s okay”
always come before the burn?
Like your body is their home
and they lit it all on fire
just for the fun of it.

Like they are trying to convince you
that the pain isn’t real.
That what you are feeling will not be
singed into every fibre of your being.