"Tomorrow is the execution
Tomorrow is the execution
Tomorrow is the execution
Tomorrowistheexecutiontomorrowistheexecutiontomorrowistheexecution-"
He rocks his head back and forth,
head hiding in his bent knees,
screams and little yelps escape his mouth,
crawling out from the insane, dead mind of his.
The room is black,
no windows,
no doors,
no escape,
except for a thin gray slate where the cardboard food comes in
and the itty-bitty box up above where the voice comes out.
"Tomorrow is the appeal
Tomorrow is the appeal
Tomorrow is the appeal
Tomorrowistheappealtomorrowistheappealtomorrowistheappeal-"
It's the same thing over and over
Week after week,
or perhaps month after month?
Year after year?
And the hardhard concrete walls the seemed so overbearing then,
have a use now.
And he stands for the first time,
stretches his tired, bony joints,
pleased at the loud cracks they make.
Then he runs to the wall,
head out front,
for the biggest crack of all,
finally finding his escape.
~*~
Hey guys this may sound a bit strange or rude or conceited or something but something an amazing YWSer had in her signature made me think a bit. If you like a poem or story or artwork or anything posted on YWS, click like. Not only so that it's a bit closer to being featured but because it's a great feeling to check your notifications and see '1 new person liked your work'. It takes about two seconds and doesn't even refer you to another page. It's a really great feeling peoples. (I'm not saying for specifically this piece, I'm saying in general.)
Click it.
Gender:
Points: 805
Reviews: 336