by Nick Gisburne
We kneel, defenceless, naked, in a box,
Defectives, given nowhere else to go.
Elusive combinations seal the locks.
Hypnotic lights engulf us with their glow.
If we are what humanity detests,
A tribe of twisted outcasts, without worth,
Let this be where the world’s unwelcome guests
Are given back the promise of their birth.
To seize the nerve, the courage to escape,
What risk exists? What future could we lose?
In every dark, diseased, distorted shape,
A spark will fight the fate it did not choose.
From torment, from the trauma of this room,
Rebellion will thrive, survive, and bloom.
