Surveillance

The wet stink of dog skin, 

Fresh ooze of crimson red,
Mixed in half-burnt soot
Of human hair.

The pitch dark of the
Night that hides the
Dry stare of imminent
Death.

The fear that creeps in
The thigh bones, the terror
Seeping into the nose
Through the thicked air.

Walking upright is an
Achievement.
Our Survival demands
Silence..

The bullets, as they hail
Detecting even a bit of
Louder thoughts.
Take these gags-

Suppress the muffling
Of those ideas.
We don't want you to
Die in this regime.