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Tortured Innocence
May 7, 2014
I smell anger floating from him,
I see the red door of wanted escape; hear the black and blue that will soon cover my innocence.
Hiding under the porch,
Tasting the intense hear of fear rise,
Feeling the vibrations of heavy feet as they near me,
Curl up tighter in the shed filled with angry wasps,
Listening as heavy footsteps walk away.
Daring to leave my haven,
Suddenly, the familiar taste of blood runs red.
Broken pieces cut my naïve head,
Bruises rumbling,
And yesterdays tortured time,
Brings todays tortured mind.
© Daniel H., Oak Bluffs, MA
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