My dark heart pumps blood fiercely,
my lungs take breaths of air, gasping.
It's dark, I'm scared and alone.
Whispers in the night surround me.
I feel them all over my naked body.
Plucking my sanity from my mind,
like strings of a harp, they play.
Then they begin.
They flay my skin, from head to toe.
Leaving nothing, going so slow.
Cut out my tongue, with rusty shears,
leaving me choking, blood and tears.
The worst, mind you, has yet to come,
I can still scream, fingers and thumb.
Snipping, crunching, digits are gone,
can't speak or write, torment drags on.
Now I'm left with, horrors inside,
they love it when, silenced, wide-eyed.
Then on the harp, they start to play,
One string, two string, strumming away.
I will lay here, quiet in death,
'till they extract, my final breath.
The harpist fiends, will watch me go,
off to meet death, play them a show.