Blackness

My emotion is black like the wig I wear upon my head.
My heart is pure and yet I feel impure.
My body is different and not in a good way.
I am tied to a bed; I cannot move as I await the final blow.
My blood is red and so I must be whipped or so I dread.
Someone once asked me what is the emotion black? I answered stating that it means sometimes I am happy, sometimes I am angry. I feel lots of emotions that can easily change from one to another.
I walk not as a human being but as a dog on all fours as I walk in the streets, I dare not look up to the man that I refer to as my king.
People call me a whore and ask me why I do not just leave him? They do their best to convince me that I am a toy and nothing but a toy that I will eventually get thrown aside, they say he does not love me, so I am a whore.
It’s not long until I see him entering the room that he had left me in, he grins down towards the sight of me for I am bare and not covered.
He fucks me, he fucks me hard until I am bleeding and begging again.
He turns me over and I feel the whip moving down my back once again only to feel the blood running down my back like flowing water.
My face has been turned to face his, I see him grinning at me and in a mere whisper he asks me did that hurt. I answer with a shake of my head and repeat the words again in my head.
My emotion is black, what will yours be when I am dead?