Hushed words slither through cracks in the wall
and touch my skin,
rough with cold, small hills of flesh.

As night collapses onto the roof,
bolts twist
and emit ripples of panic
through the air, thick with particulate ice.

Beeps of distress signals suffuse the sky;
I hope this is not the end.

I wriggle my way under the cot;
dusty sheets whip my face,
and mire blackens my housecoat.

Rhythmic footfalls rumble near the door
and whistle tunes of impending slaughter.

Sirens resonate deeply,
surging waves of reassurance throughout the frigid winter darkness,
but perhaps they are too late.

The door opens
and hisses fustily like a snake,
and a lens of a firearm stares at me,
eye-to-eye,
and shoots twice.

The ground falls in,
and my dismembered thoughts cascade into a penitentiary of bad memories past,
the mental prison where most belong.

Why was I brought here?