Faulty Reasoning


inmate

I was wrong about obscurity then,
hoping for darkness and a quiet bed;
but then the iron door slammed shut
and the cacophony of inmates filled my brain.

My crime was meant to buy me the freedom
from life’s incessant hammering; but I found
myself thrust into a discordant and never-ending
screech of men bemoaning their false innocence
and knives fashioned from melted toothbrushes
jabbing the life from unsuspecting fools.

I had hoped for the consistency of routine and
lights out early, but beneath the glaring ceiling
sconces that burned 24/7, each night slammed down
with new threats and opportunists to perish.

I longed for the numbness I had known in my
drink and drugs, but in here, they would only
give you antacids and an aspirin.

I had simply not thought this through.

The Destitute


bolivia-prison

This is the refuse of humanity;
huddled in these corners,
iron-chained and forgotten
souls. These slimy walls
reverberate with muffled echoes
that slip through iron bars, devoid
of white wings to carry
hope to a voiceless god. The
ceiling hovers like a heavy mist,
dark and putrid, thick and barbed,
chocking any head held high.
Footsteps fall on a threshing floor gaping
with endless chasms where
missteps twist the misstepped into
vague memories. Here, forgivers are
unforgiving and the soother speaks
with a forked tongue lashing through
grinning lips, while the outside clamor
of unbound hands applaud and
beckon for an encore. This is where
a healing touch decays and
withers as the cacophonous
shadows swallow warm light.
No stars pave the way to an
escape; no amount of strength can
tear the bonds of this furious
storm that confines vitality amid the
waves of rotting life. No
song comforts. Listen to
the empty void of removed memories.