Yes, you were there...
The chafe and burn of hemp ropes
On your wrists, ankles and around your neck
As you were led, powerless, to your fate...
The stinking breath of the drunken guard
Who saved your life for his own pleasure
The metallic taste of a gun barrel jammed into your mouth,
The barrel leaving an open wound in your palate
And the trigger guard bruising your soft lips
Just to remind you how little choice you have
As you struggle to survive,
But pray for death...
* * * * * * *