Subject to torment,
Father tried covering with absent eyes-
Four corners of the walls, no open air in.
The ceiling above slaps like hands reddening the skin.
Seclusion becomes a garden illusion-
picking hair for flowers,
tasting blood for oxygen.
At whipping time when childhood cries bathe in?
Covers up a black handkerchief-
damask to a beating surprise.
Is it my birthday?
Paddles to a sore behind.
Why did you die?
Why lie to a Catholic for Christian to cheat love in heavens sky?
You’ve only trapped me-
(Copyrighted, any requests to republish must be requested.)