The needle had a line leading to the veins, my eyes were looking at the gauge and I was slowly holding my breath. The death penality that I am serving should not be -- the murder that took place wasd not of my hands. These thoughts racing within my mind of the nightmare that happened in the courtroom, the horrible pictures that were shown in the courtroom -- and the pictures were flashing past my face, the unspeakable horrors that are speaking in my mind, “Oh God what am I doing here -- I wasn’t the one that was holding the knife or the .22, I was just singled out be someone that would hold a Bible in their right hand and a crucifix in the other, ‘Thou shall not a witch suffer to live.’ That was how they arrested me -- I was trying to stop the original murderer, but the bitch raping motherfucker got away.”
The liquid death is slowly dripping and I could not stay awake -- the buring hours are coming as the final hour of sleep will come. As this happens, the original murder is still out there -- killing and raping another victim with a tire iron. I am slowly gripping with fear and wonder why I am in here, waiting for the lethal injection to take place. In the hours that the nightmares will come true, the hours of walking the streets of Cabrini Green looking at the people laying on the concrete inserting needles into their viens and others are falling from a drive by shooting. These thoughts occupy my mind so I can filter out the liquid death that is entering my veins in plain view of the Angels of Death that are standing over me like vultures circling a corpse in a wasteland of concrete, broken glass and buildings.
I am starting to feel light headed, they already had the first injection flowing into my bloodstream -- killing my oxygen supply. I can still see but yet I cannot -- they begin to put the second liquid into my viens, it burns as a hot coal thrown upon my chest. I cannot hear anything, but I can hear them saying execute injection number two which shuts down the bloodstream -- I am no longer moving and turn comatose. I still could hear the bastards saying, “By the order of the Governer of the state of Illinois, you are ordered to die in court of your peers -- do have any last words before the Father says your last rites.” As I slowly begin to shut down, part of me could see that my girlfriend was in tears because she knew that I did not kill that man -- the motherfucker is also in the room, sitting there with a cold smile.
This cannot be -- this nightmare that is happening, and I cannot wake up from. A nightmare that I can never wake up from -- this lifeless body had became my coffin, a coffin of flesh as a person that is comatose in a hospital bed -- an anesthetized corpse. I had just became another victim -- as I am relating this narrative, I am not in the world of the living. Nor in heaven or hell, God and Satan are just a state of mind inposed by the Christians. They did not realize that they are the true murders because one had took the life of an innocent man. That they are laughing and playing God, killing in the name of the motherfucking law. They tell you when it is the first days of the last days -- playing God and saying, “I have the power to take you life because I can.”
Law -- a twisted word, system, a way for them playing God at the palm of their hands. It is almost at the holocaust killing enough to wipe out Chicago’s population because of their religion. The black comedy that goes on behind closed doors -- inmates doing sexual favors so they can prolong their execution. I was sitting in death row like the rest of them for 5 years before they gave my dying date, the hour of the lethal injection. The nightmares that invoke my mind are the emotional wheel of torture that goes on; they don’t care if they are killing someone that is perfectly innocent. As long they get their fix for an execution, their bloodlust is satisified -- sacrificing someone to the God that they call Law, and the state their mother, the scarlet whore. They call themselves men and women of God, but their real master is looking from beneath the earth -- the one that is called the Nameless One.
Justice -- another word, as is faith, both are justified lies that invoke one to point the finger and seek out someone to become a scapegoat, heresy. They are driven by morals but in truth, they bare a bloodlust and a vigil -- rallying that it is time to die. As I would sit there in the metaphysical state, I look at my own body that is being carried off upon a stretcher. They prey upon the morbid fear that one will never see the truth and set free, knowing that I was truely innocent. Even in the astral plain, I am in a state of spiral torment -- a man that would stand before me and say, “I will take your life from you.” The horrors that are in a descent of a hellish insignificance to the general public, not knowing the true details of the nightmare. The court trial was a goddamned kargaroo court -- pointed me out as the murderer because I dressed in black and kept a journal which I wrote of dark subject matter. Just because I dressed in black and kept a macabre journal, I was singled out as a murderer equal to David Berkowitz or Richard Ramerez. I was never a murderer -- just someone that was of the gothic culture; someone that was wrongfully blamed.
I could still see the liquid death slowly injected into my veins, though that I am no longer with the living. I am in a state that is similar to hell, but I am not in hell -- there is no reincarnation, no redemption drawth nigh, when I am dead -- there is no more, just an empty shell fallen victim of a lethal injection. I am alone and a shapeless being that is walking around among the living, and I see all of the world. All I can see is a man walking in a vast wasteland saying, “I am the one that sees all of the world.”
