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Photo by Yanal Tayyem on Unsplash

Heart turning, eyes filled with saline
Cheeks stained with years of pain
Surrounded by a world of grief, and mental
Can no longer sleep
I’ve been wronged!
By a premised virtuous arm, better yet, a hand
The stenographer’s husband,
was the prosecutor’s man

Can’t shut my eyes,
every time my lids close
I can see dead folks
They are chasing me…
It seems like my friends want my soul
I don’t know if I should close my eyes
And just let go?
Cause here I’m hurting…

I’m floating above
Drifting below…
Tip toeing on the edge of…
My mind is lost, trapped somewhere beyond
this wall

I want to go, catch-up to my faculties
But I’ve been wronged by the court’s faculty
The stenographer stole from me
Dispatched by who?
I wonder?
I hunger for information
However, my searches always return vacant
I’m left as if asunder
I’m scared
Because I fear, that the day will come
When I become complacent
With this house of Satan

So, I cry
The tears that run down my face are alive
They speak words of discouragement as they
Give up… it’s over… the truth will never be
I came here young, now I’m grown

Growing old
In a short time, I witnessed this place
take a dozen souls
I’m shaking cause this place is so cold
This place is turning my heart to coal
The stenographer played a role
Placing me in this morbid hole!
If I close my eyes, I will be sent to dwell

With my guys, who I miss dearly
My eyes are closed!
Farewell… forever, truly yours!

This piece was originally published on Kory’s personal blog

Disclaimer: The views in this article are those of the author. Global Forum Online has verified the writer’s identity and basic facts such as the names of institutions mentioned.

Kory McClary is a writer incarcerated in New Jersey who enjoys writing short story fiction. His writings can also be found at his personal blog