The moon is bowing out,
The sky begins to turn blue,
The sun peaks out in anxiousness,
When the lager has fulfilled its vexing purpose,
My cell walls become a blur,
A certain grim loneliness falls over me,
I miss days and people of the past,
Diseases I’d thought vanquished,

A time I was a prisoner,
Without chains physical,
But mental bindings in the thousands,
I was thrall to a foul spell,
An infatuation I called love,
Or what I wrongly believed to be love,
A servitude I still bear scars of,
A malady I even thought to exalt,

It nearly killed me to be sure,
A dagger running its way into my chest,
But at times I miss the misery,
And pine for the pain,
But I ought never go back,
My days as a flagellant are over,
I have transcended the convict I once was,
Never again.

Comments
  1. Carol anne says:

    Very nice! I loved this! ❤

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