The masters with whip in hand
Shall ring it like a bell.
On the slave's bloodied flesh,
It chimes and echoes
and sings softly,
into the free winds:

Shame,
Shame,
Shame.

Voices echoed the room.
Are they mine or yours?
There's no way to know for sure.
I’m no longer in my own body
And completely shaken to my core
My worth brutally contaminated

My bleeding voice chokes on your ability to ignore
my tears which you've acquired a hungry taste for.
You forgot to hide your ugliness under that crooked mask of yours
As you take my innocence as one of your artifacts.
My strength is tangled within your degrading fingers.
It hurts to be strong and try to fight back.
Within an instant, you turned my meaning into nothing.

It hurts to swallow your poison.
I should have seen this coming.
You couldn’t keep your filthy hands to yourself.
My defenses were down, but now I see what you truly are.
I know what you are.

you know that feeling that you get often but not often. you feel parts of it constantly but only sometimes do you get the whole effect. that feeling that starts in your stomach- feels similar to a punch. it takes the breath out of you for what seems like an eternity of time, and before you can remember to breathe again, you become focused on this punch. it's expanding now. up your esophagus and all the way down to your abdomen. you can almost picture it as a big deep thick dark fog just spreading throughout your body. you fall to the ground gasping for air while blinded by all of the warm salty tears that snuck up on the back of your eyeballs ever so subtlety
it's the worst feeling i've ever felt.
its embarrassment.

he looks at the world through ragged eyes,
he gazes lovingly up at Her,
his daily façade a disguise,
Inside a cur.
She looks at the world with ambitious intent,
Her sadistic malice is his pleasure,
Her feet on his back quite content,
A moment he will treasure.

his obedience runs deep,
Moments of agony are memories to keep.