But a Number

Every time I hear the chains rattle,

I realize

I am no one.

Not a name, but a number.

A thing to be used,

a toy to be played with.

Every time I hear the whips snap,

I realize,

I am expected to cringe.

I feel pain,

not because I am human.

But because it amuses them so.

Every time I hear their cruel laughter,

I realize

I am no one to them.

Forgo living as a human.

You are but a slave.

You are but a number.

just another random dabble amongst the poetry world. in a way, i did sort of have the Holocaust in mind, but its not made to be specifically that.

interpret it how you want, but tell me what you think!