Playtime

Your dove-soft cheeks
burn with untamed embers
but i´m not sure if it´s for anger or sadness.

Your glistening khaki eyes
brimming with incomprehendable frustration
glower without the endurance to fully meet mine.

Yet somehow this manages to slice me in two.
My insides oozing out my body
into a mulchy stench.

I´m ashamed I allow you to feel this way.
My head stomps on itself to warn me
I´ll never forgive myself for this once you´re gone.

Yet i continue to retain this trembling fury
that was never allowed out
to play or otherwise.

She was instead locked behind icy glass
contained in her box
until she was sedated enough
to accept the way it was
Without question.

Slaves with consent
humiliated
abused
tortured
and disgraced.
In silence
For it´s unladylike to protest.
To ask questions.
To feel anything.

It´s not enough that you feel forever guilty
So i provoke your dove cheeks to burn
and dare your khaki eyes to emit the tears
i was never allowed to shed.
And I relish your anguish.
and somehow,
although disgusted,
I´m relieved.