The Bruise

I can't help but to hear the words written on the wall as my face is molested over and over by the hand that once carried me. Don't touch me there, I'm sensitive. My hands continue to claw at the memory of what we once were, but you've faded out of consciousness. Your eyes are closed and your grip is tight around my throat as you pull me towards the depths of Hell. I scream and cry, but you only laugh your sadistic laugh of a blind tyrant. Why won't you look me in my eye as you destory what I worked hard to build? Are you afriad you might see what you've done to me, or is it you just don't want to see me? My eyes are filled and my neck is wide open waiting for you to make your next move. Look at me; you'll be happy that you did.