Pushing out Air: Part IV: The Door

There is still dark,
making itself at home, an unwelcomed guest.
poisoning the air around you.
You hear their voices muffled by the pounding in your ears
wrists numb, tied up
they caught you
now, to dispose of you
you won't be found.
Beating you, bleeding you.
hitting you, sores open.
you are pain, the embodiment of hell,
your soul crying taking it all in
throwing up gagging, chocking
screaming
silent movie
no one hears you
your alone in the darkest corner of your existence.
there is burning
your fingernails being ripped off
piece by piece
blood surfacing
flaming red, burning
ashes
crawling worms
eating your eye sockets,
still alive-painful
torture.
Then-light.
You can breathe
hood on the floor
sweat on your temple
blood on your lip
calm, crying
soul is screaming.
then you see it,
the door.
it's open
summoning you
showing what freedom looks like
you untie your hands with your mouth and slowly
stand
you fall
your ankles have been cut
two short swipes of a blade making it impossible to
walk
crawling, you wait for a muster of strength
the door is calling
crawl crawl towards the light
taste freedom, not the blood in your mouth.
keep pushing, keep pushing out air.