Poem : Deny History, Deny Life

Arbeit-macht-frei

To deny death is to deny life.
Monuments of horror still exist,
Feel the cold silence of the chamber,
Close your eyes and hear the gas seep in
As it slowly steals your senses.
Imagined?
Look up,
Look at the ceiling.
Those are the scratches of the desperate
Who reached the top
And discovered nothing but failure,
Yet still they went on
Their skin under the cement,
They fought and fought until everything blackened.
See the pit where the bodies were tossed
Uncounted,
Uncared for,
One on top of another,
On top of another,
Another, another, another.
The private rooms where the haters made whoopee,
Fucking the very people they despised
Before sending them to the doctor,
Not to get well,
But to get altered,
To drain the wrong out of them.
More corpses for the pile,
More people forgotten.
A collection of glasses,
Short sighted children make more blighted bodies.
Names, faces, gone.
Go look,
See the degradation.
Relive the horror.
Stop denying death,
Stop denying life.
I still have the tattoo,
Decrying my numerical existence.
You can’t deny me.
YOU CAN’T DENY ME.

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