Convict, A Way Of Life

By C.L. McClelland

Outside there is peace, but that doesn’t concern me, for I’m confined within these walls, walls of misery. I slipped on the outs and this is where I fell. Into this whistle blowing, bell ringing, man-made, barred earthy hell.

Each morning I wake and I curse the light. Indicative of the beginning, another daily fight. A fight to remain sane in an insane game. Where they strip you of your dignity, give you a number and steal your name.

Stepping out onto the tier you look both ways. Never can tell where pain and death may lay. You put on that face that says, “Is it worth it to mess with me? I can be hard as hard can be!”

Steering clear of the fools who don’t care about anyone. Who’ll put their and your life up under the gun. You try to work your program, to keep the screws off your back; try to get him to leave you alone. You don’t want no drama, just want to leave this place, leave this place and go home.

Later, at night when they rack the doors, like roaches you scurry into your cells, getting off the floor. Inside your cell you let go of an unconscious sigh. You made it through another day. It wasn’t my turn to die.

Hopeful that your date will come if everything turns out right. You climb into your bunk, turning off the light. All the time knowing you live a convicted way of life.

If there is a god; Please help me?


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