Will it? End?

I try to move to no avail,
The thorns have pierced my fragile skin.
They leave deep scars, a painful trail
Of what I am and where I’ve been.

And violent screams play on repeat,
Reminding me that I’m still there;
Music of death grows bit by bit,
Deafening till no more I bare.

The more I fight, the more I cry
As thorns go deep inside my soul.
A horrid, gruesome lullaby
Become my cries until each dawn.

And there I lay in endless pain,
Waiting for… what? I can’t recall…
As heavy tears of blissful rain
Pour onto me, easing my soul…

– Patricia