Aaaaagggggggh.

Children Scream. 

Their loud noises consume the enclosed space 

made up of tall walls, barren ceilings, and cold tile floors

Aaaaaagggh.

The cold showers, the cold utensils, the cold food, the cold bed.

Everything is cold.

Aaaaagggh.

Their screams provide these malnourished children 

their only form of exercise.

Their screams are the only thing 

that blocks out the blaring alarms at night.

Their screams bring exhaustion 

so that they can fall asleep on beds that feel as if

sandpaper was frozen.

Fifteen years some of these children have been inside for.

Some of them can't even make it to fifteen.

The throats of the tired feel 

the flame burn their esophagus 

with every gulp of the brown water. 

Their voices are nearly inaudible.

Aaaggh.

The screams are the only language these children can speak.

The screams are the only thing they hear from a voice, 

either from their own voice 

or from their “caretakers.”

Aaggh

I don't know how long I can continue to be in this place.

I don't know how long I can continue screaming.

I can't continue to spend seven days of the week 

looking at these screaming children.

Aagh

I can't escape this place

I can't stop looking at these decrepit children

I can't spend ninety percent of my life in this place

I can't stop the screaming

There is only one way to escape this place 

no matter who you are

There is only one way

Aa-