Will my efforts ever seek justice?
My hand feels stuck in this hardened earth,
Wonders have been done to those who surround me while I rot in this grainy soil in repentance.
Arm caught in scratches; bleeds the deep crimson so profusely I could taste the metallic nature to which it is docile.
Overwhelmed with paranoia yet I can’t seem to wail for refuge, choking on my own damn spit as if I seem to be intoxicated with this acid.
These cold shivers prevent me from feeling my own skin, have I committed a sin?
Goosebumps all over, my nerves are cold and bruised purple all the way till my heart
Now I’m buried in the ground, deep in feet till the decem.
As this solid floor becomes soft as a riverbed due to the tiny salt rivers,
For my own is barren.
The sky above looks magnificent, so unapologetically blue,
blue like the hair I once cut with disdain.
My methods of escape are anything but fruitful.
My hand still clutches incessantly onto the sandy plain, coordinated not by my senses but the last shred of hope my heart conceives.
A trail seeping from the glassy aperture, stare and I stare and stare.
Ruminating over a plethora of thoughts and wrongdoings but it is in fact my memories flashing in these ultimate moments.
And as the maggots eat my flesh, a horrible yet innocent prey in their hold.
It doesn’t gain them the prize of the true meat, rather the taste of guilt, shame, loathing and disappointment of sorts.
For when i replay through the moments, wondering if I ever once escaped unscathed.
The answer given is a question in return inquiring of my soul to deserve it,
for my morose and taciturn nature to all who surround me deems it to be unworthy.
