I tried to scream:
“I am sorry”…
I am sorry.
But even a simple please,
Begging from my dried throat
Became so hard to be release.
I am of dramatic origin…
I guess trouble is my calling,
It has such a strong grip on me.
In taughts and in actions:
Innocent guilty crimes…
Ignorance soon turn into pains,
Around which I pick pins.
A leg of mine hung in air,
And the other was five toes down.
A punishment for my evil deeds,
As my left fingertip touch the ground
Afloat was the right wrist in steam of the air.
Several minutes I retained,
Such a blood clotting position.
Should I fall, I get spanked,
Severely with a guava stem
Soundly, I cried my voices out…
Slow or fast, not a tear gush out.
Bet I was sorry for my wrong actions
But the pain wouldn’t be an auction.
By the time, my hanging arm hit the ground,
A spank I got another time.
A minute of torture became
An unending realistic story….