I am sprawling in the dingy light, behind the bars that contain me, keeping me penned into the corner of the room. I am not really there as a possession, treasured or otherwise, I am not really something he would display to other people. But, in the recesses of his mind I am on display, I am defined by the sex we have had, and by the ideal of a mute naked slave, existing only to perform for him. A casual pet.
I see the bars that keep me in, but I don't want to acknowledge that they were always weak, and now that he has broken a hole through them, I still stay in my corner cage.