Fences- barbwire and blood. The image of my life. All of it in, in fact. It started in the ghetto, it ended in it. I look back from the grave and I'm chilled by the horror of it all. Those black crosses on blood red squares hovering over me. Always looming behind me, increasing paranoia until it finally caught up to me.

Betrayal- gunshots and gas. Always betrayal, there was no one I could trust. Paranoia at it's best, no? At every turn there was a confidant, who, in turn, gave me up. Why would I expect anything else. I was naive, after all, but none-the-less, I should have been somewhat wise in my predicament.

Death- Mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers: everyone. I had no one left at the end of my life. Not a single soul. Not even my own. No, that had been stripped away also, along with everything I had ever known or felt. All gone.