Victim

I'm the kind of victim that make the beasts breath quicken in anticipation of hearing my screams.
The kind that lays trembling caught between fear and desire.
Not in the way of the virgin flower,
Waiting to be broken open for the first time.
But as the disobedient slave,
Breaking trifles and feining ineptness,
Eager to fall under the kiss of his masters lash once more,
Relishing the punishment even as he begs for mercy.

I'm the victim that makes the weak marvel.
Awe and disgust is all I see in the faces of the others.
They know knothing of my strength.
Not in the way I hold my arms wide to embrace the agony,
Nor in the way I yield once more and once again,
Without ever giving in.
Pitiful creatures allowing themselves to cower and be broken.
In futile hope that they can escape their purpose,
Change their fate while remaining powerless.

I'm the victim that holds my tormentors heart within the palm of her hands.
Even as they relish in my cries,
Think to push me beyond myself.
Even in the moments where my very nerves sing in harmonious chords of agony,
Pushing my mind to the limits of its capabilities,
I give more, my expanse widens.
It is limitless.
I am endless.
Pain cannot break me,
Only whisper loving treaties across my sweat dampened skin.
I am this victim.