In the darkness of a forbidden place was the keeping and locking of the downhearted and unwanted; the mistreated and abused. A world where you were torn away from everything dear and taken to where you were given crumbs to eat, staminate water to drink, and holes to go to the bathroom in. A world where you were near suicide, but didn't have to actually commit, just being here was already the kill.
There is nothing near joy here, within the walls rusted and covered in mold so dense you could smell it; know that it polluted your very lungs. Or the floors, never washed, infested with insects and rats so large you could feel it; know they scuttle among your feet in complete dark. And the smell so stale you could taste it, lathering your tongue with every breath; know it meant to drive every moment into a sour memory. No. There is nothing close to joy here. And that fact is so strong you could sense it, with every thought left besides hopelessness in your mind; know that all the lie and betrayal is true. No. There will never be anything like joy here…
You wait for days, even weeks on ends, with nothing for company but the dripping of overhead pipe leaking, until a crack of light starts opening from the peak of the orange stained wall, giving you sight for the first time in your small cell of dark.
They glare at you with dry and aware-less eyes from the door just opened to where the real world was, examining you like a soiled art piece from within your cage. "That'll do", one who is dressed the nicest always says, "It'll do."
You are then dragged out by the scruff of your neck, like a naughty cat - by the one you know well and despise - with non-yielding digs of pain surging through the back of your head. The formally dressed one looks at you from the grimy ground you are dropped upon, as if considering the trash of maybe once artwork. You looked back up, with weak and weary eyes wondering if it will be like always. Or maybe things could actually different for once.
After a moment of awkward silence, he nods. A moment so slow and settle you wince with every movement the muscles create. It's final.
You are dragged some more to a car after meaningless acceptance and approval, always beautiful, clean cut, and shining; thrown into the back, and shunned. The uniform driver with a new face looks at you as if you were dirt just flung into the once clean leather seat from the sidewalk bellow.
At that moment you seem to sink into a disgraceful puddle of humiliation. You won't imagine how bad you look until you get in front of a mirror with disgusted eyes. Trust me on that. It's always worse than you feel.
They see no more than torn up rags that were once clothes, and a crushed heart that could have once been whole. But it doesn't make a difference of what your spirit screams to them. All they see is a slave; a drudging thrall; a damn fag.
Maybe it's never was the same for you, or maybe this never even occurred to you at all; this world is a vortex of suffering and pain. But the fact is it's all happening to me right now, it's never stopped. I've lived in that ditch of crap for a whole entire month before this. In a desgusting way, I could almost call it home.
A long while ago I was working somewhere, away from the dungeon of skivvies I lied each day in, only to be dragged out today…but I messed up, and was returned to that Hell on Earth in an instant, like an ugly shirt that didn't fit right. Because that's all that I am: an item.
Have you ever seen butlers and maids? Well I'm not like that; I work harder and am treated less, I could do the best job in the world and still not be fed. Have you ever learned about when Hebrews were under Egyptian's rule? Well I'm not like that either; I don't live in a desert world of the past. We're in the current age right now; not back in the days of complete discrimination, or back in the days of naked Olympics. No. This is the new millennium of the 2000's; I live – drone – in the current modern world. The same exact one you thrive in right this very second.
It's no different than yours.