My weary eyes….

I remember countless occasions of being tied up, at an awkwardly painful position. I’d just gone through hours of horror and torture. I ached, throbbed, was terrified and in agony. I was shaking. I could feel the bruises building. My hair matted with blood and god only knows what else, dripping onto my eyes. I felt disgusting.

I also remember you thinking I was unable to fight back. How I watched you beneath my weary, tired eyes. I watched you, and you watched me. Neither of us knew what was going on in each other’s head. One of my eyes so swollen that it was trying to force shut. But I kept watching you. You had no idea that I still had energy left, just in the reserve tank, and that the next time you laid a hand on me, you were going to pet an angry and frightened tiger. I watched you creep closer to me, like a snake watches her prey. You were so sure I was broken. In truth, I was. But I wasn’t going to die strapped to a bed and in pain.

My weary eyes never failed me, and are the reason you never won.

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