Writings On The Pine

the lines race towards the end
meeting occasionally
sometimes interrupted by hearts
there are often red trails stalking them
made neater with my finger tips
giving the pine the appearence of falling hearts
but if the red lines meet
the form a pool
the engravings in the coner fill
like water in an empty water bed
i move around a bit to keep the blood flowing out
the shackles jingle around my ankles
i reach down towards the sound
but the darkness engulfs my hand
drip
drop
plip
plop
the blood falls on the floor
a door opens and closes
i hears footsteps around me
the the crack of a whip
i scream as it lashes at my back
the leather ripping away the scabs
i feel hot bood trickle down
i shudder
and the whip cracks again
it makes new symbols
making the old ones deeper
i lunge towards my aggressor
but the chains hold me back
she beats me again and again
until every part of me is numb
the breeze chilling me
as it rushes over the wounds
i grab her ankle
and peer into my own eyes
i glare,then sneer at myself
i have tears in my eyes
the whip cracks again