Saturday, April 4, 2015

NaPoWriMo Day Three

Wrists red,
from the rubbing of my shackles,
darkness clothing my naked flesh.
Another beat, from the bleeding heart,
that has been torn apart.
It draws near,
meat for the lion am I.
I place myself in its mouth,
only to be broken again.

To its wretched teeth,
I find myself drawn,
Oh Lord, not again,
I cry for mercy,
as it breaks dawn.

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