Death Of The Abolitionist

You keep running through the trenches
Ignoring the dead under your feet;
Your time following behind.

It is dark,
Everything is in shades of green,
Blood is black,
Oozing from mangled bones
As you step over them.

You look back.
Between two burning trees
You see her,
Slowly fleeting into you,
Holding your hand,
And helping you ahead.

You can hear footsteps
Shaking the ground,
Squeezing the corpses,
Dodging the mines.
What if you miss a step?
What will be pain?
Will it be like last death?
You again look back;
Only distant darkness.

Your cover is lost.
You are running for shelter.
Thinking that this would be the last bullet,
This would be the last time you’ll see her.
You look up,
Smoke slicing through the clouds.
You know that they’ll come from nowhere
And then you would have no place to hide.
No gun to fire.
No body to keep.

What were you fighting for?
Life, law, justice? Love?
Was it worthwhile?
Can everything have a worth?
Should you even ask these questions?
Should you even bother?
Maybe get back to the prison.
Prison of your own.
Surely not into their walls.

In their prison they live.
They feed you well and skin you alive.
They slit open your throat
And enjoy you breathing blood.
Make you drink and tear off your eyelids.
Give you a guitar and chop off your thumb.
Would you like to go there?
Is it so obvious?

You push harder.
Feel like you are flying,
Maneuvering through the abyss.
You cannot feel your legs,
But can feel the ground hitting you,
Live your entire life between two steps,
Feel like fun to cheat death on every step,
To cheat life every day,
Until they see you from a distance,
And you can feel a thousand red eyes on you
Crowding into you from every direction,
Screaming, squealing and fierce.

The next thing you remember is a blinding white sound.

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