4-point restraint  by a.mad.anarchist 1/2009

spitting red, seeing torture
strapped down legs and arms
freedom erased by the power
of men with blank faces,
arms crossed, dead stares
standing firm in blue scrubs
whispering like i can't hear,
"he's not complying, 6cc's"
a needle in hand, a poison syringe
(paranoia drives me to the end:
thinking this is it, this is death)
feeling the sharp jolt in my leg
and an unknown chemical spreading
stiffness slow through my body
like a toxic fog paralyzing,
then blinding my brain from me
and then some of them are laughing
at the joke tied down to a bed,
whose punchline is a face full of fear
and a spirit they stepped on.

time passes slowly as they leave
and i gaze into the ceiling, at the square
white-hot light spotlighting me
as panic dissolves into total apathy
and i stop pulling at the ropes,
and i stop pleading for my life,

because no one was ever listening.