Insects stinging, drawing blood. My hands, my breasts, trapped in unyielding metal. My movements secured with hooks buried deep inside my body: I am filled, I am owned. I walk like a marionette, with every step the hooks pull with cruelty inside my ass and my pussy. When I am released it is only to be stretched over a log and staked out in the grass; again I am left vulnerable, unable to protect myself from insects, biting my open body. My head secured in place with stakes and a gag. Shrieking as a worm is dangled over my face, crawling into my nose, squirming its slippery flesh over my tongue and my lips. And yet one memory towers above the rest of my torment; he called it the mala mansio. This mind is a shell. Where is my torrent of dream? Here is the silence that follows the thunder and blood? I breathe in this space, four corners no light- four corners that bind me and I am strapped into this place. I am held here like a moon in helpless orbit. My voice echoes so strangely from these aggressive corners. Every moment my panic threatens to overtake and drown me.
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