to you my captor this aguished call i address
free me from this gripping bondage
for my soul is in deep aguish
these velvet chains of yours
a constant thorn to my bleeding side..
i am a man, a weak and helpless man,
my face longs for the touch of your hand like a thousand year thirst..
wretched and rotting with want and desire,
is aching like a sun dried sacrifice
in whose face pain was written with such a grotesque handwritting that Misery only can write
– all for a mere sprinkle of your tenderness…
even if im standing on a bent knee you will never see me crawl
even if im bruised, battered and bleeding i will never ever concede defeat…
i may be a slave but i have my pride
never will i cry mercy..
I am no Spartacus madam
The best that i can muster is cry my aguish to the deaf and uncaring skies
beneath this swollen and raw skin is a hardly beating heart…
i am your slave madam,
and to you who captured me
i give you myself
because despite the torture, the aguish and the pain…
your touch is worth it madam
and your tenderness simply erases all…