Imgormiel
Part of the furniture
- Joined
- Apr 18, 2004
- Messages
- 4,372
The Abattoir
Many men stood around.
I am cold and disgusted.
My body betrayed me.
My body is wrong.
In chorus, they shout, sing and roar insanely with joy at their claim.
The first slash is the weakest.
It maims me as they begin to mutilate the carcass of my pitiful body.
One of them inscribes in my flesh, ‘you couldn’t beat mutilation.’
I feel the blood sap and the numbness takes over as I see my own destruction.
Severing my limbs, the carcass screams.
Nerves jitter for survival.
That saviour seems long in passing.
For I, yes I.
Bloody and butchered in the abattoir.
In pieces, all over the floor with the blood still dripping from veins.
I have the last sneer.
You can destroy my body but not my soul.
My soul belongs not in this bloodbath of flesh.
Yet I remain with the last gasp of a question.
Answer me this!
Am I worthless?
A first laugh is the loudest.
They sing again in unison.
‘You are worthless!’
