No, no, no, no, no. It ain't like that, you see.
I didn't see them.They were there. You know this truth
in your head, because they are there,
just outside of sight.
The interviewer's questions is intranslatable.
Like you're in trouble at home, and you are small,
and cannot get away. Fear like that,
like you've broken something bigger than a fucking lamp,
or a window. You know this.
Interviewer: Did they probe you?
I felt my fear crawl out of my eyes
and peel off my skin. That's what I felt. Fear in every pore.
I stank of it. What they did to me
I do not know, but I remember the feeling of my skin
burning in their light. Just being in their prescence hurt.
Interviewer: How long did they have you?
Time is different there. Let me have a cigarrette.
Thanks.
When you're on the slab,
and they look at you like your dead...
that's when you feel them the most,
grey, sure, if that's what you call it, but I say
it was like being examined under a curtain
of light, they could be any color.
I don't remember them touching me,
but they must have, to leave this mark,
to leave their hum drumming in my skull?
