There they sit on the cold concrete floor,
their hands desperately clinging onto the metal bars.
Some look sinister,
snickering and screaming as the guards walk by.
Some look broken,
their souls as desolate as the cages they’re locked in.
Some are gone,
off to expend their last breaths strapped to a table,
fire coursing through their veins.

They leave nothing behind
but the clothes they were given,
the orange and striped jumpsuits.
They will be forgotten
by the world who put them there.
Where is the justice?

Families come to visit,
looking longingly through the glass.
They are unable to feel the touch of their loved ones,
no body heat,
no warmth.

These people died long before they ended up here.
The line between guilt and innocence wears thin,
soon even they will be unable to tell the difference.

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