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Jun 2020 · 115
Heartless Cruel World
Hashim Ashram Jun 2020
I reek of the stench of fear as I gaze upon the tall, slender figure before me. He towers above me while I oppose him, weak and frail in comparison.

He takes his stance whilst the adrenaline rushes through my veins and I feel my body shiver in sheer terror.

His fists are quick to meet with my face with such turbulent, burning anger.
My head soon lands harshly on the canvas, and mere seconds pass before hammer fists rain down on me at my most vulnerable state.

The gore pours down and I taste the metallic warmth of my own blood,
the smell of carnage reaches my nose as I begin to embrace this elation.
As the abuse boils my blood and sickens my soul down to its core, I tell myself, “let them RAIN! RAIN! RAIN!"

I am once again the victim of this heartless cruel world.

As the trauma settled within my brain,
it felt like waves were crashing against my skull.
I barely held on to my consciousness while hammer fists continued to rain down on my face.
What is this creed that makes him believe that he must make me bleed, and bleed, and bleed?

Every time he sends a blow towards my liver, I feel my lungs ache for air, and I miss the taste of the wind.
Nevertheless, he refuses to slow down.
His attacks are relentless, as though he must settle this cold dispute by any means, even if it calls for him to break my bones.
My body slams against the concrete floor, he crushes me to my core, and I see my friends walking away from the corner of my eye.
If they weren't heartless, they would have checked if I’m okay
Does anyone know the struggle I endure?
I stomach the pain and swallow my pride,
I let go, and my eyes roll back as the warm blood trickles down my face.

As the trauma subsides and the dust settles, I question if he wished death upon me, or for me to lay here and cry in torment upon these wet white tiles.
I look up towards him as he just smiles,
A chunk of cold, unfeeling ice sits instead of his heart beneath his ribs.
I sit in my now cold blood and ponder,
My emotions rushing with turbulent power,
I am left to wonder if he had beaten me for a reason, or for the thrill and elatio

— The End —