Death Row Child

Sad lungs inhale
      another sweet dose of burning toxicity
In this dark murder no one will admit to complicity

On his hands still hangs the pungent
                                    odour of death
The cell seems to shrink;
    he starts to panic for breath

In this row of misery
                he holds a lasting place
A constant fear of dying;
                              eternal disgrace

He hears
       “dead man walking”
                               it even echoes in his dreams
Hands are bitten raw from silencing his screams

Nightmares of a strapped chair;
                       of the injected end
On the rare visits from beloved he knows how to pretend

When the final walk came
               he was not prepared
Lying,
        facing death,
                     realising no one cared
There were no onlookers to see this bitter end
He died more of a broken heart
                       than he would ever pretend