Dylan Filkins

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Krematorium

John wakes from his egregious dream, his blood shot eyes wide open.
They are filled with an overwhelming terror.
He tries to realize where he is.
He hears his heart thumping…
The familiar duh-duh-duh-duh
As if it is trying to beat out of his chest.
He can feel the sweat on his body.
It’s like Dante’s inferno
A fiery hell
He scratches and crawls
At the sheets to get the sweat drenched textiles off his body
He is shocked and immobilized
As if he was chained to the bed to serve his sentence in a dark dungeon.
Each night he is punished with the whip
The memories, Dachau
As he lays his head down to rest they gain power
As he falls asleep the whip starts to whistle
With a deadly velocity
As he starts to dream of his traumatizing trials
The leather whip strikes the back of his eyelids
With such force that he is bound to wake and scream.
Yet he can’t for he is trapped in this hellish realm.
And here comes the whip again…crack.

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