For it feels like my life has been turned into a collection of days marching here and there forever lost mouthing 'Yes, Sergeant' and 'No, Encik' while there is no voice at all or else all the hate and anger spills out like burning coals hotter than the indifferent sun that lashes burns onto shaven scalps and every night is spent falling into bed with the ragged hope that the next day it will all have been a terrible nightmare and that sleep will come immediately
while sleep should be interrupted and dreamless because any dream would be a light at the end of a protracting tunnel that is not the onset of approaching freedom or a liminal hope to walk towards on blistered soles and broken souls but rather a pinprick of a thousand useless heartbeats a day powering a body that is not your own going out in a fraction of a millisecond as quiet as