I hold the pain inside.
It breaks my heart and mind
and will not be denied,
diluted or defined
by words, which don’t suffice.
My end is drawing near.
They’re tightening the vice,
and everything I fear
is starting to come true.
I am dying on a cold, damp concrete floor
and no-one seems to have a clue
how to help me anymore.
The truth is that I’m broken now,
and cannot be repaired.
They’re not too bothered, anyhow.
One final meeting must be chaired,
before we’re into closing scenes:
theme tune; credits roll.
Those images on movie screens:
selected method for thought control.