Killer silences

Killer silences

or trying to forget
yet the images bounce back
each time the word is seen, heard, read…….


living with the pictures
hidden, covered

pictures of him
pictures of disgust,
forcing himself between my legs
down my intimacy
without my consent
by applying his strength
the first day of our kiss
or after so many times
without romance
without foreplay
for his own orgasm
or when i am asleep
in the middle of the night
or when i am not awake yet……

extreme disrespect for my body
let alone for my mind

when the first feeling is shock
did it really happen?
a look at him
is it you you just did this to me?
i do not know you anymore
the words heard
you are an old woman
you do not want sex any longer

and the feeling of guilt that emerges

the sleepless rest of the night is not finished
and yet the guilt has started building up
like a fortress that will
keep the silence for too long

when the following day is wordless
or ‘normal’
when working hours fakely hide the reality


when coming back
to the place that should be a refuge
becomes a trip to a scary hell

and days and nights repeat themselves
amongst other abuses…

and an intimate life of guilt
behind the fortress of silence

when the guilt confines to the border of non worthiness
when the repetition converts a human being
into a nobody
a small wrinkled ball thrown to a corner
that no one can see
and that does not have enough air
to call for help.

how to send a SOS
when one is reduced to no one
by the recurring forced power
exerted to tame

when the mind becomes split from the body
when the body becomes object
and the mind this little wrinkled ball

tamed to guilt
who can see it
who can see me?
behind the mask
when the effort of a begging hand
becomes an exhaustion

breathing truces
when the conscience knows
they are all false promises

why to seek help then
when the ‘normal times’ come back
times when thinking straighter becomes possible
false hope it will never happen again
it will happen again
and again
the fortress and the ball

the wrench between
the tamed mind that think still
and the no one’s body

will any one see it?
if only someone could see it
i could start throwing a word that could lead
a listener to understand
the hell i live in…..

of course there is the law
but who would believe a married woman
accusing her husband of sexual assault
the effort of reporting to the police
seems an exhaustion too

the little mind ball wants to survive
and relating recent incidents
will collapse it
this is sure
it will become a mount of dust
disconnected pieces of nothingness

better to stay this little ball
and keep our killer silences…..

desperation for
something external to happen
the only possible salut

the salut comes from him
when the killer silences
end up frustrating him
and he leaves the house of hell……….
and i cry, cry, cry
my love has left me
was it really love?

sleepless nights
of a half empty bed
of a half empty self
tears filling the ocean of pains

hour after hour
day after day
week after week
the habit of the void builds up
a void that becomes softer
because of survival
i can live
i can live without him
i can move without him
i can breath without him
i can think without him
i can be without him
the healing hope
takes months of other efforts
to hook into the mind
till the postponed and postponed day
when the law learns about the ordeals
between the hiccups of the tears
and this day, i know i have won
this day i am freed

(Photo Credit:

About Francoise Louis

Francoise Louis is a French MD who emigrated to South Africa. A self-described humanist, Francoise Louis is a human rights activist, whether health related or not, with a passion for reading and writing.