Flung from a mere empty vessel.
A broken vessel.
A murky soul.
The need to control runs deep.
Power fueled by the helplessness of the weak.
Consumed through their misery.
Through their troubles.
Defiance gleefully accepted,
It made the game that much sweeter.
Not always with a slap.
Not always with a grand insult.
The abuse was often subtle.
But it was there.
It left a mark.
A much intended,
Written by Irene ©TheyOnceCalledHerPumpkin
Post Inspired by Today’s Daily Prompt: Control