Torture

What writing means to me sometimes

Writing is like torture as I’m slapped and

kicked to divulge the secret sins of my

past.

 

My hands are bound and gashed

As the rough hewn ropes cut and

Bite into my fresh raw

Flesh.

 

Bring out the glowing cherry red poker and

Barbed wire mesh as they apply the thumbscrews with

A sharp twist and  turn along with a mocking jest.

 

With my head stuffed into the block, my

Feet dangle two feet from the ground

No confession is forthcoming from my mouth or mind

Not even as they pour hot oil in my ear and I hear it

Gurgle down.

 

My strength  is waning as nighttime

Waxes by , leaving me with little hope but to

Tell all or soon die.

 

 

By Philip Wardlow