Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2027184.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Sam_winchester/anyone, but_most_likely_-_Relationship, John_Winchester/
      Sam_Winchester, or_-_Relationship, Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Anyone, but_possibly, Dean_Winchester, or, John
      Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Rape/Non-con_Elements, Underage_Rape/Non-con, Child_Abuse, Child
      Neglect, Size_Difference, Manhandling, Sexual_Abuse
  Series:
      Part 2 of Monsters_In_The_Dark
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-07-26 Words: 105
****** "As It Rocks" ******
by dont_try_this_(sychononny)
Summary
     A short angsty beat-poem about Sam Winchester enduring things no
     child should.
Notes
     A/N: This poem is also best read in a beat poem style. Even more so
     than the last one was.
     It was hard to convey through written text, the way it would sound if
     it were vocally performed through speech. If you're familiar with ani
     difranco's style of performed poetry, then you might be able to guess
     the expressive dynamics that this is trying to imply through the
     formatting style.
     Just think of the words flowing like a river; pausing and rushing by
     turns to tell the story. Punctuation and spaces-added suggest pauses.
     While lack of punctuation suggests where it tumbles together one-
     word-over-the-other in a headlong rush. Longer sentence groups have a
     different speed than the individual words spread out over page lines
     like a freefall. Or at least that was the intention. Of course, the
     reader can read it however they prefer to. =)
-------
Sam rocks.
On the corner
of the bed
near the window.
He rocks.
Ignoring
the wet spot,
as
the night's
activities
seep
back
out
of
him,
like an open wound.
He rocks.
Watching traffic.
Hoping
one day
he'll
be
noticed
by those
who drive
on by.
 
He stills --
headlights
that
turn
white curtains
into
yellow ones.
 
Eyes closed --
In mute denial
of
opening
doors,
jangling
keys,
and
thick
leather
boots.
 
The hand
-
still
pulls him
from the window.
Still
pushes him
onto
his
back.
Still
spreads
him
open - so far open.
And,
there's
nothing
he
can
do -
except
listen
to
the
bed
as
it rocks.
----------------
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