Torture 1

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Striking a match releases a flame

Cutting flesh is not solely for the insane

Each slice a rhythm to release a sea of crimson

I cover your face as you once did to the child

You shall realise your disgrace

My calmness revokes belief in revenge

I smile as I cut again

Metaphorically each slice reveals your wounds

Repeated incisions forces you to mentally debate a decision

Do you choose to live or die?

Death has no place here, neither am I promoting fear

Your senses flinch as I grasp the knife

Perspiration naturally relieves, though causes you stress

Your mind contemplating, where I will pierce next

Blood drips slowly onto the floor

You are required to learn more, so I cut open wounds

The deeper the cut, the deeper the understanding

Is that a tear or sweat rolling down your cheek?

I pause, hoping to see meaning

Should I cut your eyes as you have failed to see?

Dismayed by my anger, I repeat my teaching

A punishment to be kind

Saving your soul and mine

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