He whips himself, he whips himself very hard;
the silent screams breaking into an ugly grimace
The cat-o-nine-tails screams like a mad banshee;
the knots striking in a frenzy, a blood thirsty race
Each lash is dedicated to one specific memory;
a black hole in the whole black vast space of life
Each stroke exposing a white pulsating nerve;
a silver snake writhing under a very sharp knife
He hurts himself, he hurts himself so real bad;
drawing crimson patterns across his naked back
Skin breaks and ruby drops appear one by one;
thickening, congealing, stinking and turning black
The flow of blood sometimes turns into a river;
drops changing into streams, streams into creeks
Crimson spattering all the walls and the ceiling;
tracing the paths of pain and punishment it seeks
He makes himself suffer; he suffers for very long;
feeling the whip slither in the stinking thick slush
The skin is no more, his back is all but raw flesh;
but the overpowering regret, the whip fails to crush
‘Oh! Why do you punish, why do you hurt yourself?’
the Devil asks him with a mockingly soft sympathy
And God….He just turns his face away in disgust;
there is no place for him in the great hall of empathy
He walks the path of pain, he has chosen for himself;
he grips the whip firmly and he never lets go of it
He penalizes himself, passing each judgement harshly;
he condemns himself, the fire of misery is always lit
Self-flagellation is penance for sins so many or few;
it’s a dark journey and he’s been travelling since ever
Self-flagellation is the last highway out of his own hell;
yet his soul burns in agony, he stays unforgiven forever