The Sinful Child
The room is dark.
Pipes leak steaming water.
I know as its drips,
felled on my fresh-whip skin.
I feel the tears and blood,
Slide down my unholy skin.
I keep my mind far,
away from the real world.
Yet, it can’t seem to work.
All I know is that,
the people I loved once died,
A long time ago.
Losing the golden child,
And taking it out on,
The “sinner”.
I am no sinner.
Never then or now.
I pray one day,
After this punishment is over,
That they’ll come back,
One day.
Yet with my ears,
Filled with screams,
No echo’s of a bright,
Future will ever happen.
Deep down,
As deep as my,
Wounds.
My mama and papa,
Will know that I was,
The good one.
The golden child,
They know,
Never loved them.
Mama…
Papa…
Please…
Can I,
Have one more,
Chance.
I don’t want to be,
Your sinful child.
My ears hear the door open.
No!
I don’t want this!
The very whip,
Caked with my own,
Flesh and blood.
I can only glare,
At you.
My arms and legs,
Still chain and bound,
To the wall.
I plead for you to stop.
Your ears are deaf,
To my voice.
Like always,
Father.
I know that your,
Out of you mind.
Your drunk,
By your breath,
And blood-shot eyes.
Yet, I know,
I won’t stop praying.
For a happy ending.
One with wonderful,
Parents.
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