Warning: This deals with some very heavy subject matter (incest, torture),
and could be considered very disturbing. Please do not flame me for subject
matter, because I gave you fair warning. And this is mine, copyrighted by
me. Do not steal this because I will find out and shove a lawsuit down your
throat and you will choke. and I'm sure you can imagine things from there.

I saw blood on your walls today
Deep rust against the pale tasteful beige
I paused, slowly tracing the jagged outlines
My fingers bumping over dried pools collected in shallow clawed chasms.
Yards of splattered red washed down the length of your room
And under the shackles close to the ceiling, ten ruby claws dripped to join
the rest.

It's been years, and yet you still keep part of me alive with you
Does recalling our brief time together comfort you
(the bile rising in my throat accompanies the memory of you, my dear)
Or do you keep the walls unpainted as a macabre trophy,
A reminder that you will someday take what you can't let go?

I must admit, you're haunted me as well
(i'd wake up screaming and she'd comfort me)
But I've betrayed the one I learned to love after your poison drained away
(guess you were right, no one could save me from the evil we share)
And the first place I thought to go was here, sanctuary for the abandoned.

Because yesterday I finally realized what happened when I cut her bond
And ran away from the woman who saved me from you;
I'm dying, my dear, since I can't live without her
My beautiful scarlet angel of compassion and hate
(isn't it strange that I can feel, that she was the one to break me and not
And the knowledge that I was the one to hurt her is slowly burning me

So, little brother, wake up; I've come to stay with you again
You promised me pain when I left years ago, and I'm here for you to fulfill
that vow
(truly nothing you can do will make me hurt as badly as I'm hurting now)
I remember how this works, and you've kept the irons oiled, I see
Chain me up, dress me in white, and I'll bleed this whole place crimson
(. just please don't ever stop)

Constructive criticism (or praise. that's good too) is welcome, and thank
you for reading my twisted poetry.