Thorns cut so deep
they broke through the barrier
of my hard whipped flesh.

  They were coarse,
they were harsh,
and barbed with
the ambiance of
torment.

They pricked at my skin,
ushering up trickles
of crimson.

   The small droplets and lines
  of such a vibrant color
coated my skin in the
philosophy of neglect and
malnutrition of empathy.

Thorns wrapped themselves
around my body, encompassing
them in a way that showed
no
mercy.

I was the result of such an action,
I was cut and bleeding,
and yet I remained standing,
for the pain and torment of the
lingering thorns and their
barbed prefaces became
a part of me.