Leave your belongs. You’ll get them later.
They said as they locked the room,
Swallowing the key.

Undress for a shower.
Cleanse yourself with death’s breath/

The doctor is going to treat you.
He’s breaking your arm like a twig
Just to go back and “fix” it,

Cheerful notes scream
In our faces.
Never obnoxious enough to
Mask the smell of burning flesh
from the showers of death.

Lies upon lies.
Bodies stacked into endless pits
As deep as Mary Poppins purse.
Hell’s version of Heaven.

You work
And work
And work
To extend your hopeless life
Just to end up dying,
Being thrown into a Mary Poppins pit,
Buried beneath everyone else,
Becoming just another statistic.
Nothing
More.