Your Fault

They follow you into the dark, Into the depths of valley’s and Shallows of forests. Till they find you alone, And tear you apart, despite your desperate moans. They stay there till there is nothing left. Till every bone is broken and bent and All your cries and pleas are spent. And somehow, it’s never their fault. It’s always you, your clothes or your body. Your mere existence is a crime And you are made of pay for it, As if your body had no rights, You are born to satisfy their desires, To tame their insatiable fire, To be their slave till your heart appeals. It’s not their fault. It’s yours. You are born for it, Now you bear with it.