The Hanging Man

Dead in the shadows
Hanging from the gallows
Here forever
Refused to surrender
Rotting flesh
Not fresh
A lowly corpse
No life force
No soul
Pants with holes
Tattered clothes
Death, he loathes
How long did he go before being caught?
I wonder what was his last thought?
This corpse has a story to tell
Even though his soul is stuck in hell
Mouth agape
No one’s safe
Blank eyes look ahead
Unaware of its own bloodshed
If you listen quietly
He speaks to you, privately
You can hear his silent scream
He tells you his heart’s unclean
A puddle of blood pools at his feet
Red painting the concrete
I look at the blood, and see my reflection
Saddened. Overwhelming depression
I understood why this cadaver hung here
He was sorry, and it was sincere
But “They” didn’t care
Unbearably scared
Fade to black
Flashback
I see his final minutes
Paid his penance
He hung, terrified
I knew this person who had died
I collapsed and cried
His face was mine
He died, voluntary
All alone; solitary
His own will, completely
He did this himself; total secrecy
“They” were the voices in his brain
“They” forced him to do this thing
I saw him kick the chair away
I saw myself die that day
Back in reality, teacher in my face
“Alex, what’s the answer to question eight?”
I fumble for words, like a receiver missing a pass
Come on, Alex. Think fast!
I answer wrong, teacher’s pissed
I’m just waiting for class dismissed.






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