Look what our lives have in store
Seems as if there's life, no more
Behind these bars all day I sit
No privacy to take a ****
I wonder what it's like outside
I long to take a Sunday ride
The flowers grow and the day gets hot
Can't see if there's rain or not
I wonder if it's cloudy or fair
I wonder if there's still life out there
-Behind these cement walls all day
I sit as the time passes away
Time is all you've got when your locked up in here
God is your closest friend, helps you face every fear
I wonder what life now has in store
Things are worse now than in my life before
Other people sit in this cold dark cell-
They wonder about these things as well
Being locked up makes it hard to get along
But when we live together so we must be strong
Even behind bars you need a friend- side by side until the end
Our life is hard, God knows we try; through many nights, tears we cry
Many of us will get out.... Someday
To never look back when we walk away

Age 12;
The first to say, “Stop!”
Yet the last helped.
Living life protected but now betrayed;
Touched with impurity and hate
All the joy too late
All acts of defiance
Through deep breaths of silence.


Age 20;
Tried for treason;
With no factual reason.
The first to defend
Yet last to protect.
Innocence is lost
Guilt is put.
Put into prison;
Missing the funeral of the wife,
The ending of an innocent life.


Age 25;
The rush too hard to handle;
The pills of a gamble.
Taking another shot
As if not already taught.


37;
Laugh of joy
Cries of pain
Those being told
They’re loved
But leaving a heartless stain
43;
The dizziness hits
Through the alcohol of memories
Of the wife once murdered


48;
Thinking too much
With all too much to touch
Kids are now gone
Wife was murdered
Wondering if life should be drawn


50;
With no wife and kids,
Life living alone
With the thoughts of loneliness.
The life stops;
And time goes timeless
Through the deep breaths of innocent silence.

You are the lover that I never loved. A possessive, obsessive, controlling type. Your darkness wraps around my body, clawing at the scraps of hope I hold in clenched fists!
Monochromatic grey, your melancholy walls talk to me in my sleep.
The sand of time is carried on their breath, hourglasses shattered all over my skin!

My freedom cowers in the shadows of this cell, my dignity malnourished under the bed.
This isolation is more than I can stand, whilst the devil and god rage within my mind.
Waterfalls cascade down my face into oceans that lay at my feet.
Water levels rise, still salty tears can’t sterilize my eyes from the sins they’ve seen.

I pulled out my rib and carved a dove; through prison bars she flies…    Upon her return, my leaves of green, a letter in her mouth.
Paper with dotted lines and instructions to ‘fold here’
An origami boat of hope, with ores made from words of a friend.

In bold defiance, on the starboard side, words that shimmer in the sun.
Like a pool of water in the dessert or paracetamol to a headache.
I’ll hide in the decks made of paper and let the waves wash over me. Your walls crumble in a Tsunamis rage and my ‘Avoidance of Doubt’ shimmers on…

I'm a hamster in a wheel.
Where am I going?
Nowhere. I am going nowhere.

Thirsty...
I **** on the tube of warm water.
Hungry...
I eat  dry pellets of god knows what.
And I rely on you.
For nourishment. For my little life.
I need you.
You keep me alive.

You bought me a home-
A little cube with see-through walls.
A cell with no bars.
You gave me a bed-
A pile of scented flakes.

And through the walls I see the outside.
I see freedom.
A half inch away
But a half inch too far
The walls keep me in.

I hate you more then anything.
I despise you.

But I need you.

For water.
For food.
To clean my ****.
I need you.

I'm a hamster in a wheel
I'm a hamster in a wheel
And I'm going nowhere
nowhere at all.

Am I depressed?

Or am I just the reflection of everyone else.

Feeling as though I've just lost the meaning to it all. A cavity like I had it all grasped so tight and yet... Here I am again in this sludgy bucket of depressed feelings.

It's a hopeless feeling. One like I just lost my sense of purpose. But the most dulling of all is the epiphany that you never had any to start.

It's almost enough to drive a new spark like a drained battery. A momentum, a motivation but only momentarily.

What is it I'm doing here on earth? Where am I heading? Is it enough to just make a goal; a plan to be somewhere. Or maybe just scraping through university. What is it that will without a doubt fill me with life long satisfaction.

Is there anything? Anyone?

I worry about where we are going as people. How we're all just a lost bunch of misfired projectiles. Even those that miraculously slide out of the barrel and experience the updrafts of life always find dirt.

We are just stimulating the illusion of freedom. Inside the prison of each of our own making.

G'day from prison!*
(before I knew he lives on):

I see you there, My Maple.

Your little skirts; your peroxide hair.  Sweet, quiet Maple... I see your fishnet, maroon, little sweater. How I loved that thrift-store garment; it gave purpose to us both. For you, an excuse to see, without being seen. A voyeuristic excuse, for myself, to see without being seen.

If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t know this.

I picture your starkness. Dark, ten year old Maple. Listening with wide eyes - as I validated you.

As no one else had before.

I nurtured that Goth infatuation that no one wanted, fed you music: your Evanescence covet. Your black fingernails... Even then, I understood what no one else could.

Yummy, tasty, Maple.

How good you smelled; how fresh you smelled. Clean, and sad. Searching for reassurance. Searching eye's, searching for me.

Searching for someone. Anyone. A real person; content to SEE you, and love you anyways. Not like the rest; all of them - who'd only ever cast you aside - pick you last - call you names, spit in your face, lock you out and alienate you; who’d kick and shove you.
The *someones behind why you, at age ten, began to wish you were dead.
I was there, and I was your best friend.

Me.

I was the best friend you'll  ever have. Someone who loved an anomaly, and understood, and loved you best; over your mother - your sister - I told you I had a crush; a crush for only you.

10 years have lived and died between us.

10 years without me.

And the weight of time has yet to alleviate.

You still wish you were dead.

I still feel your warmth; the little bundle of you.

You.

You in your cozy, blue bed, with your
curious eyes and porcelain face. I would slip five dollar bills under your pillow; tell you, “I’ve hidden something secret.”  

I adorned you with money, pampered you with special trinkets, allowed rare privileges disproved by your mother... A mother who hadn’t a clue you’d worshipped angry rap since the age of eight. She didn’t know. You idolized Eminem. She’d yet to learn his name. You wanted to see 8 Mile; your mother said no – Rated R – so it was our little secret.

But you betrayed our secrets, didn't you?

We have no secrets anymore.



I see you there.

The soft, supple skin of your back . . . of your stomach . . . and of what lay below.

“What’s down there?” I’d inquired.

So enamored, exploring the secrets of your little body.

My demure, sad Maple.

I was your one and only true companion.

I was your one, and only friend.

Yet, here, in this cell, you will never see your best friend again.

You will never have a best friend again.

For in this cell, I have nothing left, but to remember.

I have nothing left but to write.

All my love, my presents, my company. All to end up here.

Here, behind bars.

And the weight of time has yet to alleviate.

You still wish you were dead.

But you and I - we've become synonymous.

Together, forever.

Just as I said, ten years ago. For, no matter what, my existence will always define you; and yours - you will define mine.

Forever.

You'll never be rid of me, and you can never leave me.

For I'll never leave you.

Our bond is solidified.

Perpetually.

Together forever.

Ten years. Eleven, twelve. The calendars change, but you and I? We’re right where we left each other.

So you'll never be anything. Anything at all. Anything else but mine.

The weight of time won't ever alleviate.

And you STILL wish you were dead.

- Thomas Gregory Brown, G'day from prison