The room is hot,
the walls are wet,
a stench lingers in the air.
My forehead’s drenched with salty sweat,
and there’s grease in my hair.
I hear a creak
from the walls
and a long steel spike juts out.
It cuts me deep
and my blood falls
like tea from a pot’s spout.
I stretch and strain
against the chains
that bind me to the wall.
my muscles tired,
pulled and strained,
the wounds-the worst pain of all.
The spikes will come,
out from the walls,
to cut and make me bleed.
a decent cut
causes cries and calls
for the redemption i so need.
and somehow i
withstand it all,
guilt worsening the pain.
the poison guilt
springs from the walls,
to cut and drive me insane!
i wriggle and
i writhe in pain,
the spikes cutting deeper still.
Another spike,
i cry again,
i stay living of my own will.
and finally,
i can take no more,
and i scream out my confession.
the poison spikes
of guilty store
recede for my redemption.