Prison of my mind

He sits and stares

At the empty wall before him

Lost in thought

He hears the voices around him

Muffled

As he writes poetry

In his cruel mind

The peeling paint

Seems to mock him

Saying

“Watch this!

You’ve got nothing better to do!”

The air is frigid

So cold it seemed

To seep down into his bones

He listens

Hearing the screams

And cries

And pleas

For what little life

Any of the others

Was he

The only guilt-free one

In this whole damned place?

He saw light

From the outside

Flood in

Is there a new prisoner?

Fresh meat?

New blood?

Almost as quickly as it appeared

The darkness swallowed the light

Yet again.

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