The Bravest Man Alive

Sat strapped to a chair,
while a man in a mask
brandished instruments of pain.
And pain was indeed inflicted
on the bravest man alive,
with fists clenching in anticipation
at the sound of spinning rotors,
muscles tightening at the
smell of grinding metal,
buttocks rising off the seat
with every touch of
steel blades on bone and tissue.
Yet the bravest man alive
stayed silent throughout the ordeal,
and with one final sound
of breaking bone,
it was all over.
The bravest man alive
smacked his lips
to the taste of blood,
and his tongue could feel
the soft, torn flesh in his mouth
where his front tooth used to be.

*Conceived Saturday, 22 June 2013

Sting Lacson

A writer. By degree and by profession. Also strongly advocates ten-finger typing to all writers because that's what you do for a living, so be efficient at it.

My Literary Side

"The Words come from the Divine; from the Muse the Idea. The Poet merely transcribes." ┼Old Sumerian proverb

(Kidding, I made that up. LOL)