The unfinished Conversation - 1, The sin.

A gasp of air, a little torn sheet,

I stood, motionless, for the beast.

Shout from the den, he said,

But lost you are in my bed.

Scream, and you shall be answered,

A knife, your skin might be pierced.

Talk to me, my love, just talk to me,

No one can take you from me.

I held half a spoon, half drenched in blood,

He pulled out the other half, his eye balls embed. 

I had a broken bone, a shattered finger may be,

But he, sat or laid, a mangled man, pleasure to see.

Then he spoke, words, or gasps for breath.
As I closed the doors and walked.