The Chair

From my corroded cell, in my colorful robes, I walk the desolated hall.
With a guard on each arm; they show me the way.
The walk from my cell to the chair is never ending,
I got myself here, I have no one to blame.


Dismal to the eye I enter a room, the frigidness of the ground seeps through my shoes,
I'm directed to the middle of the room.
Shortened of breathe, wrists deadened, fingertips translucent with a tinge of blue.
Barrages of people await my everlasting fate.


I'm a nobody. I'm a victim to the chair. I'm seen
As the brute I've been made out to be, all I have to do is wait,
I've been decided my fate, I wont be the last to take this seat.


Feeble minded, jumbled thoughts,
Did I remember to get milk and cheese from the grocery store last week?
Did I cut the grass like I was asked to do?
Swiftly I open and close my eyes remembering I'm being chastised.

Slowly, I'm dying for my sins, wait . . .
I, I hear violins.

Mind clear of thought, the sounds of crickets chirping and music playing invade.
This is it; I broke into a furious rush of sweat, numb, deadened from the waist down.
Staring into the warm light my breathing rapidly descends,
A roar of excitement erupts from the gallery.


Staring into the light it flickered until it flickered no more.
Tasting the taste of iron, I plunge into complete darkness, I am no more.