Mors

Walking the line. For the gods turn from me. I am a servant that lie in the dark, wet dungeon. For I am a servant. Whippings across my back. The pleasure of pain. O Lord. Thank you for my pain. The opening of my scars. The blood dripping down my back. To far to lick. But O Lord. Why have you turn your back on me. Let me bleed. The little light I see has faded in the night. For I am a servant. My master beat me. Why does he beat me. For I am tearing up. Crying. Lord you have made me for pain. I am a toy. Being tossed around by a little boy. Trampled on. Tossed around. Trashed. I am trash. This is my life. These scars aren't battle scars. These are scars of torture and torment. But. Even though I bleed I sit and give thanks to my Lord for my pain.