The Chair

April 15, 2018
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Vexatious echoes inside my ear,
The parlor dark and cold.
I still not know why I am here,
A story yet untold.

Wooden chair beneath my thighs;
Rag choking out my tongue.
Wrists fixed tight with several ties,
Should I try and run?

Kicks and squirms seeking escape
Bring daggers to my neck.
An evil creature slowly scrapes
A gash that whispers death.

I stopped defiance, became compliant,
And thus was left alone.
False comfort found in my confinement
While countless lies were sown.

And evil began to multiply
As I accepted my new home.
The claws still yet intensify
As pain proceeds to grow.

Here I am with no ambition,
Wallowing in despair.
I wonder if I’ll be free from this prison,
Or spend my life in the chair.

But—
I will not stop until I am free
As once I have been told,
It only takes a tiny seed
For a mighty tree to grow.






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