poem for duncan campbell scott analysis Mother takes a huge, scary glass syringe from the cabinet! I scream again! I beg her not to hurt me.
She laughs maliciously! She draws some pink liquid from a can into a syringe.
I see the terrible tip of the syringe – cone-shaped, long and thick.
I tremble with fear! Finally, she comes to me, orders me to relax.

But until nothing happens, I’m all waiting for something terrible! Mother smears something with a tip. poem for duncan campbell scott analysis
And here something cold and slippery is thrust into my ass! I scream – just in case.
Mom slaps me hand on the pope.
Shut up! So scream no reason! I calm down.
A jet of water quickly poured into me.
Everything! I want to go to the toilet! But my mother did not immediately let me go.
For a while she still holds this terrible syringe, not letting the tip slip out of my ass.
I’m moaning.
Well, she takes out the “brainwashing tool.”
Thank God! I am free! Since then, no matter how hard I tried, I still sometimes had to visit the “room under the stairs”.
I can say that you can not get used to this! poem for duncan campbell scott analysis