the dirt and blood ill become you,
marring what was once a fair complexion.
it must pain you to look at your assailant,
to admit your failure,
to acknowledge your pain.
curl tight around your vulnerable parts,
lest another kick find its way home.
after all, what notice will another bruise bring
when compared to the others decorating
your bruised and broken back.
stay down if you will,
let the tears fall.
perhaps it would be better
than to look up and be struck again,
the blows begin to take their toll.
already your features are unrecognizable,
swollen, cut and discolored.
you are a pitiful thing,
so accepting of defeat.
does the dirt feel good,
corse and gritty as it grinds into your wounds?
do you collect more to apply…
or could that be a fist you make?
Show me there is fight left.
Look Me In The Eye!
Then tell me you will not accept death.
Make me believe you can survive the coming fight.
No, leave the dirt,
let the blood be a stain.
Everyone should see there is a price to pay.
moody, moody, moody…at dVerse tonight we are asked for a second person piece. this is unedited, essentially un-proofed and possibly to the prompt. perhaps I should get some sleep…