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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Other · #804370
every child needs a sanctum
Under my bed,
where cobwebs I call friend,
I hid, frightened, from the path
of the two demons wrath.

Dark and alone in the dust I lay, belly down,
silencing my cries of fear , I knew I must,
any sound made would give my position away to the demons
and they would come, drag me from my hole
and vent their anger out on my body, leaving it sore and bruised
then make me tell lies of an imaginary fall.

I shook as I heard the footsteps down the hall.
I prayed to God to let me die
before the demons found me under my bed
where cobwebs I called friend.

No matter my prays and pleas
I remained alive and saw two sets of eyes stare at me.
Found by the demons, I'm drug out of my hole,
my hair being used like a handle on a cart.

Once in the open, I hear their curses
and feel their kicks;
next comes the belts slashing across my tender young flesh
leaving stinging red welts in place of soft white skin.
When the beatings stop
I curl up in pain under my bed
where cobwebs I called friend.

As I lay curled in pain and fear
I knew, from times past,
the worse is yet to come.
Later in the night they'll come to my room;
their naked flesh reflecting in the moonlight which seeps through my open window,
saying, "Mommy and daddy love you son."

They will strip me of my cloths
and proceed to hurt me far worse
than their demonic anger ever could;
during their painful and embarrassing acts of malice
I'll cry,
wishing I was back under my bed
where cobwebs I called friend.
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