Torture Pattern

Day one:
The silence was more terrifying than the noise
Sure, her footsteps bleached my black locks
Yet in that spilt second of nothingness,
I felt utterly tortured,
In such a lifeless state until,
An inch away from my ear,
The scream.
I lost a sense.

Day two:
Silence became my mortal enemy and my life
It was all that I could hear,
Actually, I could not even hear that,
Silence is in hearing nothing, waiting for something,
I knew, nothing would come.
Lost in my sorrow.

Day three:
Wrist cutting and boozing away the hours,
Until her footsteps could be seen
Seeing her was worse than the nightmares
I knew I was screaming, yet could not hear so
She opened up a pair of scissors
They rested on both sides of both eyes
The slit.
I lost a sense.

Day four:
I always wondered how a blind man would dream
Whether my slowly maddening mind was playing games,
Or it was just another loss,
I did not dream, nor did I hear, it was blackness
From sleep to wake
Dark and soundless.
I relied on feeling, touching.
Lost in my sorrow.

Day five:
T’was a pattern,
One day torture one day pain
Without being able to see or hear her, it was a shock
That made me jump, as my hand touched her breast
She was cold, I could feel so,
She grabbed my arm, a slick blade caressed it.
When you cut too deep, you loose feeling.
I lost a sense.

I lost a life.
And she destroyed the pattern.