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Sackless Jack Saves Christmas For The Carmelite Kids

the nullification was a nightmare

the plasticity of time, hours stretched
like warm taffy, creating a
veritable hell.
chained to the furnace as I was
the six foot by six foot
square of basement floor
became my bed,
my bathroom, my dinner plate
my entire world.

the master appeared occasionally
offering words of encouragement
between systematic beatings.
he made me crawl on
broken beer bottles
because he said he loves me.

to prove my love for him
the master stretched a rubber band
around my testicles,
twisting and wrapping until
my scrotum swelled and throbbed
and I screamed and begged.
agony constant as the cinder
block walls and filthy floor.

the master told me how special
I was to him, how he loved me best
and I cried and moaned and
kissed his outstretched hand.
my thoughts scattered like flies
disturbed from their meal of shit.

of course he loved me.
why else invest the time and
energy into making me perfect?

the plasticity of time, days
before my balls finally went numb
and the pangs of starvation
replaced my testicular suffering.

the master returned with smiles
fondling my balls like rotten plums.
I couldn't feel his fingers.
they'll fall off on their own,
the master told me.

a quick flick of the razor
will nullify the rest
and then I'll be perfect.
I want to be perfect.

in the concrete darkness
I dream, and when I dream
I dream of returning to the
Carmelite Home For Boys,
a home for boys without homes.
it's Christmas and I arrive
with sacks of toys.
I come with lovely words
and tell them they
are all wanted
someone wants
them all.

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