Poem about a Picture

"Blindfolded"

Blindfolded, but my hands are free.
I don't remember what has happened to me.

Do I want to take off this mask?
I am usually intrepid, but this seems like a terrifying task.

Should I use these demons to set my eyes free?
They have done some pretty crazy stuff to me.

Slit these wrists and bathed in their tears.
I even cried out, but still, nobody hears.

They always force me to the sink to rinse,
To hide what they did, to erase all evidence.

Shhh... They can hear me, I know they can.
They're evil I tell you. These are evil hands.

They know you know, and now they're trying to get away!
I promise I'm not crazy, they don't do this everyday.

Wait a second, do I feel wet?
Is that what, what I think it is? It doesn't smell like sweat.

Oh man, they really did it this time.
The carpet has to be blood-soaked. They'll be caught in this crime.

But now my insides are feeling quite dry,
Oh how I wish I could use my eyes.

If you haven't figured by now, there is no cloth around my head.
And I can't feel my hands anymore, I guess they finally fled.

At least I know I'm no longer under attack,
I think this time I'm actually going to fall somewhere underneath black.