Water in my lungs

I'm fighting just to breathe, like the air in this house is water in my lungs. Soon they might let me out, soon I may even be able to breathe in real air; outside the realms of captivity. But do I dare to dream that far? Here within the bloody realm of your kingdom; my pain is instinctive; like filtering oxygen from the air. Every day there is a new reason to shed a tear. But you do not care- the indigo bruises on my knees shine like your brandished badges of honour.

The books are new I can smell their fresh over-powering odour. They contain a new set of rules which I must follow. The crowds outside sing; almost chanting like the rhythm of a heartbeat. But this house and others like it are the real organs- the oil in the machine. And the crowds inside are inspecting, circling it like its fresh meat; tenderizing to meet approval.

The silence here is worse, the tutting of your tongue loud and fierce like wind battering trees. 'What ever next?' its too much to take in at once. A breeze pushes the the hair from my face. I imagine it, here-the land of the free like America. I'm walking down the street alone, the heat of the sun cupping my face in her hands. The shade of the burqa languishing slightly.