Torture 1 Poem by Louis Cecile

Striking a match releases a flame
Cutting flesh is not solely for the insane
Each slice a rhythm to release a sea of crimson
I cover your face as you once did to the child
You shall realise your disgrace
My calmness revokes belief in revenge
I smile as I cut again

Metaphorically each slice reveals your wounds
Repeated incisions forces you to mentally debate a decision
Do you choose to live or die?
Death has no place here, neither am I promoting fear

Your senses flinch as I grasp the knife
Perspiration naturally relieves, though causes you stress
Your mind contemplating, where I will pierce next

Blood drips slowly onto the floor
You are required to learn more, so I cut open wounds
The deeper the cut, the deeper the understanding

Is that a tear or sweat rolling down your cheek?
I pause, hoping to see meaning
Should I cut your eyes as you have failed to see?

Dismayed by my anger, I repeat my teaching
A punishment to be kind
Saving your soul and mine