Being here is killing me;
The shouts, the screams--they deafen me.
Any sound from them breaks me inside.
Silence is my only escape, yet I never attain, for
The voices from every direction challenge my sanity.
Every word echos back from then.

Being here is killing me;
The accusations, the threats--they stifle me.
Begging for reason and mercy is futile.
And I am left with an Unknown Friend, still I do not know, as
The words are stolen from me, like all else.
Every unspoken muttering falls off my lips from then.

Being here is killing me;
The lashings, the neglect--they scar me,
While dragging unseen burdens and trials of meaningless pain.
A target of relief from the angered soul, I accept it, because
The time is supposed to dry tears and ease suffering.
Every bruise and cut come back from then.

Being here is killing me;
The blood, the punishment--they season me.
Crimsonand metallic streams brighten and shine on a dry tongue, reviling it.
Salty, clear pools collect to drive the stains away, so
The agonizing pain forges lasting memories.
Every tear and slice of relief is tasted from then.

Being here is killing me;
The confinement, the weapons--they blind me.
Still I see every attempt and success they had.
Forcing rememberance even with shut eyes,
The actions cut through my cornea and burned deep.
Every image flows back from then.

Numbness was living,
Yet now I live with every sensation;
But I'm not there anymore.