The floor of the world, dusty fragrance sharp
is carpeted in sweet white
With no one to appreciate its beauty.
Skeletal trees signal their freedom
waving, bowing, dancing in the wind
that seeps through my thin coverings
nearly to my bones.
I clench my teeth, inadvertently my lip -
ruby liquid, bitter iron to my taste
flows, and I remain powerless to stop it.
Searing pain; blinding rage builds behind
The mask I keep intact to survive.
Only the deepest waters know the coldness
that sweeps through my soul.
A yell, a bellow, a shot, silence.
Eyes to the ground, eyes to the ground,
don't see, don't sense, don't imagine.
The greyblue morning wakes the harsh reality in us.
Motionless, for motion kills,
We stand in the Kommandant's presence
and beckon death.
by Lara Sloane