Rage

RAGE
Standing in the dark shadows, his back up against the wall
his eyes like molten fire staring through the bars,
naked, stripped of his pride and liberty,
his painful memories cursing through his veins.
Muscles ripped, heaving chest glowing with sweat,
and his rage only controlled by the terror it rains from within.

She was beautiful, an obsession that lead to his demise.
Her breath, sweet like the lingering summer rain,
and she moved with an elegance that he admired.
When she kissed him, made love to him,
he was like a lamb to the slaughter
falling into the languid power captivated in her eyes.

His glare from under heavy eye lids
protruding and dilated, but not beyond despair.
His breath rasping, as tears fall bouncing on hard ground,
The stench of remorse flowing from every pore,
now, he is like a wild animal caged, regret showing on a furrowed brow.

She smiles at him, her lips pretty, pink and firm.
Her laughter more melodic than any sonnet he had ever heard,
her hair black as coal, as soft as the finest silk,
and her thighs as succulent as the ripest peach.
She loved him, owned him, but it was never enough.

Shackled, they walk him to shower away the grief,
He wants to drop to his knees and scream away his fears,
but he stands tall, again in the shadows with his back against the wall.
He watches them, watching him
and he smiles flashing white teeth.

She teased him, played him, loved him, destroyed him,
and ultimately lied about him.
Through false tears she could have saved him,
instead she condemned his broken heart, leaving him to rot in the hell of her
making.
She uttered those words, and pointed the finger that sealed his fate.

He stands a man accused of a deniable crime,
a man crushed because of her ebony heart,
a man who became another statistic in a life of games.
They slide steel to steel and walk away, his shoulders slump; he’s played his part
today.
Tomorrow, the dress rehearsal begins again.