First execution $150

First Execution $150


His Knees buckle a foot from the chair,
They seat him, strap him up,
He does not struggle or look up.
He poses a pathetic figure,
Chin on his state provided shirt.
His final words are brief
‘I’m going home,
Free me warden’
He scrunches up his eyes and stiffens
As they fit the helmet,
Whimpers as the muzzles in place,
I await my signal,
They shroud his face.

I can feel my breath beneath my mask,
A thin layer of sweat forms a moustache.

Hand trembling slightly I flip the switch,
The lights flicker,
His muscles are contracting
A curious smell emerging
I stop the flow,
They check his pulse
The audience erupt in spontaneous applause.

Life leaves his body at last,
A thin layer of blood soaks through his mask.