A twisting turn A slow tortuous burn. A squealing frightened scream bellowing from the fang-toothed mouth of a killer. Making prey of a predator & finding a new thriller. This heinous act of violence against me is not what I asked for.
I pled for the pain. The self mutilation in favor of sensory stimulation. I asked for blood not a massacre.
They have brought me
but ironic glutton. Their work carved into the flesh like a branded farm bitch. The wounds always refresh
They resurrect from the dry dunes of neglect and erect a whole new war. They resurrect from the -what I thought was- dead.