Poetry - Hard

Slivers

I am still
the young girl suffocating
under your mass
rubbing against me
night after callous night
hit me in waves
of excuses
of why
I had to surrender
to the strict monotony
of your constructed love
your rough hands
had split my skin apart
for all these seeds of torture
you planted
thousands of little slivers
I cannot dig out
burning beneath my skin