King
You were my King and upon a throne you sat
Spiked whip in your hand ready for lashing at only my thoughts
Like a King I treated you
Like a Slave I was treated
You found pleasure in my pain
Worry you not;
I find strength in my lashing and beatings
Then one day, one strike too far
I ripped the shackles from my feet and free I was
Free of your demands
Your whip still lashes out for me
Just breathes from touching my skin
Still on a thrown you sit, alone
I dance circles around your misery in my freedom
Now tell me, why do I crave your lashing whip again?
Copyright © Logan Holliday | Year Posted 2015
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