The life force is ebbing
from her fingertips
even as she grips
the bars of her prison…
Her grip loosens as she gives in
to the idea that maybe it is the way
it is supposed to be
because that’s the way it has
She wanders back to her
prison bunk –
The Mack Truck of all lies
slams her down to the bed
and she squints and sees him
Grinning at the foot of her bed,
the glint of the knife,
the glint of the smile,
and all the while
she knows he’s there to kill her.
The thought halfway thrills her,
to see the end of it all,
to see the other side of the bars.
Flying through the stars and into the sunlight,
or maybe its the flames of hell; who knows?
He stands there, breathing loudly,
the rowdy colors of his clown suit clashing
with the eternal grey of her cell.
Maybe this is already hell.
Maybe that’s what this is,
just another hell.