iamtryingtobelieve

i.

Caught. They took our warehouse and killed us.

Even at week 12
I still

Can't quite tell
If this is
WORSE
Or better
Than I had previously thought.

Guess all that shit about the water, about Parapin, was true.

ii.

You see, I would write these things
If only they would give me pen and paper.
I would gesticulate if my arms were not bound.
I would
Scream
If they had not
CuT oUt My ToNgUe.

They wouldn't let me swallow my own blood.
They hung me
N
W
O
D
E
D
I
S
P
U
So the blood would drain.
I've never seen so much blood.

Not even when they found us
And shot them down around me, killed most of my comrades, took the rest.
Not even when they nearly flayed my skin off
With the chemicals behind the processing room.

iii.
I think they kept my tongue.
Passed it around, a little trophy.
Chopped it into
BITE SIZED PIECES
And shared it, like taffy.

iv.

Week 23.
I've found that if I situate
The stump of flesh just
Right in my throat,
I can gurgle to some level
Of coherency.

v.

They interrogated me today.
Shoved their lamps into
My light-starved
Cave (cell ) dweller eyes

And gave me a pencil and paper.

They told me to obey.

(FUCK YOU.)

They didn't like that much.

I thought I saw
On my way out
A thin blur of
White and blue
Smoke. Caught his scent.
I don't dare to
Hope,
Refuse to
Pray,

Although, still…

Iamtryingtobelieve.