Next Time Poem by Precious Biyela

The next time he breaks in to my room, he will come out dead.
Screaming my lungs out never helped.
Being pointed at with a gun got me scared.
Those flashbacks and those nightmares.
Build anger in my heart, the pain is still there.
I cry everynight when I go to bed.
Never again will I allow him to take off my dress.
I can still hear that 'shiii...' as he opened my legs.
The coldness of his gun from the head going down to the neck.
I had to weep in silent or I am dead.
No phycologist can take away those flashbacks.
They are always there, and sometimes it's worse.
It would have been better if he left me dead.
Cause it kills me, and will never end.
But, the next time he breaks in to my room, he will come out dead.