Do to Dance on execution hill

March 31, 2012
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Hopelessness seems grey.
Like a prisoner’s cell
I see the hanging noose.
I hear the moans of the man in the next cell.
I smell the vileness wafting from the floor.
I touch the fleas that bite at my sores.
I taste the stale bread of my last meal on Earth.
The gray of the sky the last sight in my eyes.

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