Death Row Poem by Timothy Long

Strangeness...perhaps mental, so many gone with little remains, a curse in the field is a horrible honor to few, manageable to others, screams haunt to shut down, sparky lights to live another day, only to take a tormented ghoul away, last words are easy to come by, last laughs are rare and make the executioner dry, allowing the criminal a final cry, no more rights, no more fights, no more pain, everything left is insane, super egos are destroyed, it's hard to say if anything remains correctly, what a way to explain all behavior, complex through science turns it simple apparently, how corrupt, only remains construct the basic needs are self-centered after all, a mental anguish, never assume, call it a time course, no romance, no ships of any kind, the system is broken, once strong became bad ruins, such nauseas poison, all who reside learn to associate with voidness, called anciently lord order to lady chaos, the syringe is the battle field, gas a hellish angel in clothes, and the bullet a requested savior.