Two towering ledges imprison me
enclosing both sides
each one is equally imposing
around them the black vulture glides
A psychological Bastille
crafted in the confines of my mind
so substantial as to appear real
stands tall, matched by no other kind
Reason patrols the walls
while emotion lurks below
pure feeling creeps the halls
my essence hangs from the gallows
Yet the proletariat will not
stand for such injustice
receiving what others should have begot;
the word travesty can not encompass.
the cruel edge of the executioner
may sunder flesh like water
there will be no restitution here
for they've already shot her
