I am ready for you, warden.

When i am finally laid to rest, 

my hands will clutch this earth, this dirt, 

this ground soaked in water and blood. 

It will be comfort and warmth 

and it will be home sweet home, 

because this land I stand upon is the same that my mother stood upon, and her mother before her. 

Their bones are only slightly deeper in the ground 

and these worms that come and coil themselves around my fingers are the same that came before,

to snuggle up to my mothers of centuries ago.

 

We throw ourselves in harm’s way, 

and under carriages, 

and we bleed, real deep red blood 

from our mouths and eyes and wombs. 

 

But the smell of blood only makes them lose their sanity and like bulls in the ring they are blinded by this colour. 

They stomp their feet and raise their heavy fists and roll and roll the drums of war, intoxicated by the smell, 

their fears and dreams wrapped up in rolls of clingfilm.

 

When i am finally laid to rest, my eyes will look at the stars above and all I ask

is to finally see beyond this gruesome playground. 

If for a lifetime i had to see this darkness, 

all I plead is for my last moments to be bathed 

in pure light.