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Canvas
Writhing in agony
you take the lashings,
blood steaming
down your back
painting the canvas,
which is the body,
No end to the torture,
continual whipping,
a mind in disbelief,
chooses to go to sleep.
They take delight in the ceremony,
these warped minds,
all just a spectacle
for their viewing pleasure.
A body just a canvas,
a body just for torture,
this temple desecrated
becomes unnsalvageable ruins
