Spiritual Oppression

Two syllables kept babbling in my ears,
A tape blaring, banging away at my drums
With sticks sprouted with thorns.
Good Lord, take them away,
My hands are bleeding,
Marking my pleadings on the wall
Only You and I could read.
I’m left bleak with unsympathizing, sick
Hands violating me with great shame,
Patronizing again and yet again the repeat button
That plays the agonizing percussion, “You’ve failed.”