True Torture

True poets turn words to nectar
That flows from the page to your mind.
Soft, gentle, sweet.

I am not a true poet.

I am a torturer of words.
I chain them to the page,
Bind them in my meaning.
Brand them ? and smile as they sizzle.
Only when they are beaten,
Their screams long turned to strained gasps
Their blood pollocked on the page.
Only then am I satisfied.
Sated.

Only the sadistic,
the self-tortured, the pained
can relate.

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