Will Forever Live In This Place With Blood And Shattered Teeth
What is one more bruise,
scar, scab, cut, wound,
another black eye
when this abuse has already gone
on for so long?
I don’t feel like fighting for myself
anymore. Maybe a hard tug
on my hair, a slam of my head
against the wall or floor,
a stomp on my thigh,
a contraption pressing
against my wrist or hand would snuff
out my last breath.
Why feel anything anymore when all
I have felt is bad? I might as well die
because I can’t get out of this prison and if I
did make it out of here, I would be alone and no
one will accept me. There is absolutely no way to start
a new life. The rest of my life is beatings, torture,
eliciting mocking laughs from others. I’m in an unsafe
country. If I ever leave this dungeon, which country
shall I seek asylum from? I keep bleeding from my mouth and nose;
