Torture and temptation

The copper pot is strapped to my stomach,
the rats inside can feel the flames
their gnawing is my only escape,
I want to break out of this skin.
 
Each day I feel them scratching,
a quiet need that cries like a child
trapped in a separate dimension,
only alive so the monster can feed.
 
I shouldn't have come here again,
the leather straps are lay on the floor
the rats run free and there are no
disappointed faces to stop me.
 
I approach the confessional
and ask a stranger for forgiveness,
he wipes a glass and absolves me
of my sin's and so it begins, again.