Death Row

Don't ask me what's wrong; I'd rather be asked what's right.

I long for the days

when scoundrels

sat with solitude in

death row; their

own end being

anticipated:

pondered whether

they would be

asphyxiated;

perhaps sedated

by foreign venom

injected through

a rusted syringe;

berated while being

wrenched like an

orange to see just

how many innards

they are able to

squeeze out of their

system:

electrocuted in the

chair and watching

their pale skin singe.

Expecting agony

but giving peaceful smiles

instead; for the

justices could walk 

away with their heads,

and still they would 

not mind, nor will their 

headless corpses

scar; while the justices

smile: for they have been

treated like the very scum

they are; like the very scum

I am.

Author's Note

Photo courtesy of StregaMuriel on Deviant Art.

Reviews

[Summer'sBreeze]

Wow, just as Ricochet said down there: Grisly. But another wonderful write from you, Tai.

[xxxrawr_friendxxx]

*sigh* You're so beautiful. I haven't read anything from you in a while... Forgot how utterly wonderful you are.

[Baby Ricochet]

OOOH. Grisly. Love it Tai, Just love it