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By Jen M., Swampscott, MA
Rats in the cellar
Exist in a hell, or
At least so it seems to one's eye
They scurry o'er cold stone
And suffer all alone
But painlessly, quickly they die
The snares which we set them
Surprise and o'ertake them
With chance to exclaim not a cry...
How nice it must be there
Locked down in the cellar
Where not a soul utters a sigh
Relieved of the terror-
Encountering death where
There's not even time to ask why.
This piece has also been published in Teen Ink's monthly print magazine.
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