Prisoner; hid behind thouse mucky masks.
Feeling like schizophrenia,
feeling so alone, useless and defectived.
The child
which was refused;
the child which begged,
which cried and asked him too leave.
He smiled.
‘No, my dear. Im almost done.’
She whimpered.
It was wrong, it was filthy.
He was filthy.
His face was filthy,
his hands on her hips were filthy,
his creedy eyes were filthy,
but most of all,
his smile was filthy; wicked and putrid.
It happened once.
And again,
and again,
and again
…
No longer scared. No longer afraid.
Full of hate.
Wants some revenge.
She smiles in the mirror and her eyes are heated.
Room, filled with memories.
She can almost taste all the tears she cried in there.
‘Wish I could make you drown with it!’
She looks deep inside his eyes.
Now he’s the victim.
The filthy eyes are scared. Afraid. Whimpering.
‘I beg you, im sorry…’
Her smiles turns filthy.
‘No, my dear. Im almost done.’