Septic Wounds

Gashes across my face,
Another down my back,
This sick and twisted game,
That strengthens all I lack,

Tied to the bed post,
Beaten to the core,
Left to rest in terror,
Alone forever more,

The crimson stains the white,
Each sheet another page,
History wrapped in silence,
In the end of all this rage,

Metal edges claw at me,
I think it's called the blade,
A child wrapped in misery,
In her pants he starts to raid,

She never screams her torture,
If she does it is her last,
His hands, his face across her,
Forever lost in past.