Whip in hand
Cuffed
Stuck
Lost
Escape seems impossible
You cry out
The whip is brought back
You feel it strike you
You feel the warm blood on your back
You scream in pain
The whip slices the air
You feel it come down upon your back
CRACK
It draws your blood
Still cuffed
Still stuck
You begin to give in
The blood trickling down your sides
Crying out as you feel each crack
Of the cruel whip
The whip is done striking
You get up
You turn around wide eyed
The whip is no longer in your
Tormentors hands
But it is in yours
You were your own
Tormentor
You were your own
Enemy
The whip sits
Waiting to be used
Yet again
YOU ARE READING
Fading Whispers
PoésieA song is thoughts, thoughts are the heart. Well, here is my song, my thoughts, my heart.
