*A thought of restraining oneself from one’s true nature, brought this poem into existence. The world abides Mr. West Coast Bandit
“Heirloom of Cilice”
Ascending the stairs in a panic,
Cobwebs abetted my jaunt.
My mood bordering manic.
Secrets concealed in this haunt.
Negotiating an ill placed plank,
Vented eave-lights shone the true path.
Family history buried in deep dank,
Somewhere over in back.
Reaching for coveted treasure,
I felt a twinge along my spine.
Immediately regretting the gesture,
Ending up lying supine.
Of all the boxes about me,
Was one that held gravity.
A hatbox ragged and dusty,
A veil for depravity.
Opening the musty parcel,
I pulled out a garment of rough.
Ran it across my bare torso,
And knew it would be enough.
Alighting the stairs of the attic,
My masochism barely contained.
I ogled the blood stained fabric,
Awaiting the chance at some pain.
My wife doesn’t know my secret,
The one I keep hidden away.
The shirt I adorn when she exits,
Provides ecstasy beyond rave.
An tug and a scratch,
Some surface scars.
My sins are no match,
For the barbed wire stars.
Cilice is the name,
my contrition warrior.
I apply it in shame,
I regard it an honor.
Must finish in a hurry,
She’ll be back in short time.
Makes forbidden action sublime.
Now safely stowed above me,
My portable penance hatbox.
God can’t unsee the reality,
Of life’s many hard knocks.
23 years old girl travelling solo on a motorcycle.
Not just live and let live, but live and help live
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Twisted tales of times true