Their faces pressed against the glass
This is the precursor to death
I am not afraid of them waiting
The last minutes left of my life
I almost hear my bones breaking down
There is strength in what remains
Most of my senses are gone
The only one left is sight and sound
The enemy left long ago
I looked at the length of their cuts
My smile transformed into a shape
I heard freedom around me
Now my face pressed against the glass
Pisaries Creator 
Leave a comment