'keep it real', he'd said
so i plunged the knife in deep.
not surprising, I ended up dead,
while others around did weep

so ended my carceral life
as shard of former self,
ground by constant strife
to fleck of dust on shelf

they wept, they cried,
they wrung their hands,
('such a pity he died,
we don't understand')

they shook their heads,
they wiped their eyes,
they wound red threads,
they looked sky-wise,

as for me,
hey! I'm free...