A dark poem.
The metal gurney was cold and unforgiving.
It was like sitting in a pile of snow.
The little flakes dance on your flesh until it goes numb.
I want to be numb.
I performed my duty, yet no one seems to care.
I am not the villain!
A strap on the left, and a strap on the right, my legs tied down tight.
My shoulders are bare, but it shouldn’t matter.
No one will see my shoulders on the other side.
I wear a crown of silver plates tightly woven and digging into my flesh.
I am the performer, the muse!
They do with me as they choose.
A needle rips through my flesh, dug in too tight.
I wince.
They don’t bat an eye.
I am afraid.
Three million eyes staring,
Waiting for my last breath.
I am a performer.
I had my last meal,
I hope I don’t make a mess in the end.
I probably will.
They can clean it up with their tears of guilt;
Once they accept the truth.
I feel the poison traveling inside me,
Like little worms tunneling through the mud.
Three million eyes on me…
I am the entertainment for their deadly stage.
Hating me from behind the plexiglass — the safe place.
Wait, stop!
A man shouts, but it’s too late.
The poison works its magic.
I inhaled one last time,
An everlasting breath.
Cry now,
For you are the ones that are guilty.
I told you I wasn’t a murderer.
Prompt by Ravyne Hawke in Promptly Written “Fiction Friday — Stage Fright”
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