Behind a heavy wooden door green covered steps leading in. She’s on display with clothing strewed around the sent of Gin. Secret place hidden by normality and his deceptive outside attractions. Within this room of evils depravity her sorrow forms his satisfactions. Private place no one dare disturb away from judgmental conditioning. She’s bound in contorted postures her cries for reprieve are petitioning. Creation of his abnormal dark desires and sadistic portraits of her displeasure. His excited heart binds her wrists tightly stretched hopelessly tethered. Past torment’s gate exist scars origins its leather punishes reddened skin. Tears can’t cool her swollen whelps of the torturers self fulfilling sin. Cruelty hidden by his honest eyes a window to her feared perdition. Leaving the privacy of his dungeon broken and shamed is her condition. J.C.