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Slits.

Dead black slits

Sink.Handcuffs.Chairs.Underneath a stairs.

The sound of keys that jangle overhead..

they sing to me

like birds in the trees.

Blindfolded, I smell damp and dust.

I'm struggling to breathe in this heat.

Heart comes bursting, beating against lungs

like a drum sounding a deathmarch out.

Door creaks open, pulse throbs like a dull knife

as I wait for the inevitable.

You look tired.You look unwell.You're not yourself.Let me untie you.

Please don't struggle.Please don't resist.I said don't resist.Don't make me hurt you.

A street light.

A cloth rag.

Mild struggle.

Back seat of a car.

Then darkness.

Then waking, locked in here.

I could have been here hours, or days, maybe months..who the fuck knows?

Adjusting to life as the dead.

I think I can learn.

I think I can try.