The Elephant’s Den


Lashes and chains,

Echo softly past my eardrums.

As an alarming fetish,

Forbidden and irregular,

The agony someway feels like home.


Flushed red runs through thighs and throats,

Pulsing like a mirage of bright apples

In the haste of desert stone.


Heavy steps appear,

With worn leather dragged along the rubble.

Hearts scurry behind the bars,

A memory of an infinite futility.


Lashes and chains,

They hurt so bad,

Please stop, I said,

But the man gave no damn.