Poked through by a skewer,
My beating heart is now bind onto the serving plate,
Nothing more but a vulnerable prey waiting to be slaughtered,
Displayed & paraded,
With all prying eyes on me,
As each beat of mine pumped with fear,
Never have I felt so naked & fragile.
With knives poking me over & over again,
Just to test how tender I can be,
Blood finally oozed through me with each whim & fancy cuts,
But no one cares.
All they in awe is the power of the superiority,
Pleased to feel the invisible anguish in the air,
While slicing part & pieces of me,
Never too deep of a cut,
As all novelty ends with a dead heart.
The last moments of a dying heart,
Is then worthy in the name of Jest ...
*Just to clarity churrascaria style obviously don't served food in torture as above. Just looking at the other side of the coin. To each of his/her own interpretation. Animals, cruelty, bullying or even minds of the twisted ones...Up to you.
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