No Comfort

He will never let the young man leave.

   He'll give no solace or reprieve.

     Dark brown hair to yank on through the night;

  What he does isn't right.
   
     But [i]he thinks it's alright.[/i]


Laying on a basement mat,

  surrounded by bugs

     and rat scat:

a broken boy, trembling,

                    cold

in the place he was brought

          after he was sold.


Crying, he wishes he was dying,

     His flesh raw and tender.

The lender will come

     and after everyone is done

to the darkness he'll once

               again

                      surrender.