Am I finally allowed to die?
The gleaming knife frosted with vein liquid,
Smiles at me, as the light bounces from its blade,
Teases my fear of its stabbing plunge, waiting for the wicked
Gush of my blood to stream like a running cascade.
The man I once knew fiddles with the knife,
A sinister grin dances on his lips as he traces the blade on my frail skin,
The razor mimics his grin as it plays with my life,
He lightly pierces my skin, with no emotion, no guilt of his sin.
Another streaming wound forms on my body,
But no wound can compare to the seeping of my heart,
I wish for death, desiring it to at last free me,
But this torture, this pain that courses its way through my core is only the start.
His game is evil, his game is cruel,
But he enjoys it, the pain and fright beaming from my eyes,
He is the superior, his word is command, and his actions are the rule,
I soon began to black out, darkness falls into my vision, finally the pain begins to minimize.
But I do not die,
For God is keeping me in Hell,
I sometimes wonder if God might just be a lie,
For my soul, for the pain to stop, I would sell.
But no one wants to take my tortured soul,
I have been used and I am at no ones liking,
For my spirit, over the years has been turned as dark as coal,
I have come to know, that I am in the inside, in fact dying.
I cannot help but wish for a Hope that never comes…
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