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by ECILA ice May 11, 2015
Sadness, depression /
All were in the gas chamber.
They put their masks on,
Inhale with no fear of toxicity,
While you engulf full of carbon monoxide.
Slowly, both your lungs sore but still breathe.
Offered you a chair made of metal,
Comfortably watching you.
While you sit uneasy on this Iron chair.
Spikes puncturing your flesh but suit yourself.
They watch you,
While you scavenge your decaying inside
They sit with content,
While you're strangling.
Why do you allow this?
Why do I allow this?
Maybe because I am a masochist.
*** This is not about SEX.