[Please read the tags of this story, and you'll have an idea of where it'll be headed. If you are sensitive to those triggers, please do not read.]
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A poem I had written, which serves as the general theme for this story.
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This trapped feeling is all I feel.
This oblivious aura is all I want.
The struggle to breath
The urge to escape
The need for personal paradise
The desire to live spontaneously
All too far beyond my reach.
I am but a puppet.
The thin, dangling strings have shred
The edges so that now
I am hanging on a fine line
Approaching the blissful hell below
Forsaking the dreadful heaven above
Tugged from all sides
Expected to exhibit my weakness
To wrap around their needs
Liberation is nothing but
A distant utopia;
A forbidden yearning
There is not much left than to
Go where the strings will take me
In submissive defeat.
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YOU ARE READING
Sheer
Short StoryWhen Lahar's best friend decides to host his bachelor party at a brothel, Lahar has no choice but to go. He's just unwillingly locked in a room with a prostitute for four hours, that's all.
