There is a haze over him
He could fight it, muster all strength to overcome it
But to what end? There is nothing to see here
Just pastel yellows and men of ill-intent.

Other prisoners crowd around the trough.
Like cattle.
But not him.
He’s special.
They can’t see the poison in the sky.
They don’t know they’re watching.
This is a prison for special people.
People whose eyes are too sharp.
People who know too much.

But they succumbed.
They ate the meat of the temple.
They became domesticated.
They gave up their sight for creature comforts

He is not like them.
He is stronger. He is smarter.
The abattoir will not be silent when it is his turn.
He will not go gently.