I feel angry. Angsty. Abused. I feel your fists raining down
on me as I held up my arms in a feeble attempt to block out your blows. I can
still see in flashes, each pounding, and each jolt of pain. Until at some point
it became numb. I became numb to the pain. I couldn’t get up. Nor was there any
lower to sink to. I closed my eyes; waiting for it all to be over. Instead I
could feel you digging into my flesh, and I knew you had broken skin. The
soaking, flooding gash of blood pleased you. I was weak, and you are strong. It
was my duty to endure this pain, as it was yours to inflict it. Then it ended.
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