Bent over
blades pierce through
carcass meat
Like a pig
in a butchers back room,
ready for slaughter
Coughing up sludge and blood
through a corroded trachea,
Haunting images, burn in ashes,
not seen, not wanting to be seen
The rest must tramp, and trudge,
and slog through muck.
Boots lost, gloves severed, jackets sliced
The blind limp,
happy they’re not lame
The lame lunge
happy they they’re not blind
Charges echo through thin films of heat
And rip through the tired, the fatigued
Like a butter knife
resolutely cutting
through layers of leather.

Canisters of gas
roll into the camp,
Masks for few,
scars
inflammation
puss puncturing blisters
For the many.
Orders scream, evacuations occur
Bodies collapse like air is water and throats
Rushing in one direct, and blocked in another
Air comes in with nowhere to go
A best friend, sucking and wheezing, unlucky

Vomit water, an empty symbol
of disgust
Gather the bodies, eyes move
without purpose
Faces hang
without expression
Bloody saliva foam, a memory
Nobody wants to store.
There is no innocence.
I feel no glory.