The Electric Chair

The Electric Chair  6/1/09


Has my heavy conscious thinned?
Have my altered motives been checked?
Am I too thick skinned?
Is my innocence wrecked?

As I sit on this silver chair
chained tight, lights blare.
I hear the whispers loud
of my accusers as they crowd.

They point and sneer
and stare me down.
I look for comfort but
no one is around.     

It's getting hot, I begin to sweat.
I don't wish to explore my emotional depth.

Have my lies been justified?
Who can judge me for my sins?
Like a stone, I am petrified
of all my losses and all my wins.

Should  I die for my grievous mistakes?
Should I be tortured until I break?

These issues swirl around in my
sickened head, I feel dizzy and beat.
What will be my fate on the inquisitor seat?

As these queries are hurled at me like daggers of spite,
I gaze at a mirror and take in a surprising sight.
Is it really true? Can it possibly be?
All my accusers have turned into me.

I wake up in a sweat it was only a dream.
I look in the mirror and I begin to scream...