5 May 2012
They smell the dread that I grow inside. It's their trail of scent, it's their personal guide. I'd like to run but I can't hide, I'm stuck with fear as I've desperately tried.
They smash the door into my reside. Colon weak; letting nastiness slide. Trousers are damp; like my heart and my pride. Streaming tears, as I watched them I cried.
Their faces a grin; my noose has been tied. The rope is prepared for the gallows outside. They reach for my head, I silently sighed, And fulfilled my duty, I instantly died.
Grim • Opuss № I