Death Omens

The rats are my only friends
In this low, low place
We watch as the carrion birds
caw and swoop outside the cell window
Debating whether the cadavers have it worse

A deep crimson
Rattled out of the faucet yesterday
I splashed some on this pallid
Before the copper tang
hit my cracked tongue

Names and dates
Scratched into the stone of the wall
Most are unrecognized by my slitted eye
Though, still there are a few
One in particular
Scrawled with a fevered hand
And written backwards
Trailing off into damp nothing

Sometimes, I still hear his cries