Last Words From The Row

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”