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This day I face myself
Fear is an illusion
I refuse to imagine some doom
I refuse to **** our conclusion

Through the force of good
I recognise all faces
Fear not for our human death
will only change us.
In prison, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are birthday cake,
and ramen noodles a succulent meal.
In prison, everyone's given shower shoes,
but pillows you have to steal.

In prison, the "beds" are worse than the floor,
the "blankets" giant SOS pads.
In prison, lice goes around like soup du jour,
and **** talk spreads like mad.

In prison, all you see is gray,
color only lives on your screen.
Now you're picturing us watching a 60-inch all day,
but it's only 13 by 13.

In prison, there's no such thing as steak, there's no such thing as meat.
Almost everything that resembles either is fake.
Real milk would be a real treat.

In prison, you still need money,
or you go to bed hungry each night.
It's seriously not funny.
Three small "meals"a day  
isn't right.

In prison, if you don't lock it down, another con will steal it.
There's more than enough desperation to go around,
and everyone can feel it.

In prison I was years ago.
I'm a different person today.
But the shame felt from being forced to bend over, spread my legs, and cough,
well that's never gone away.
I was in prison for 49 long days, and it was enough to scare me pretty much straight. I still know people who are locked up today. The majority of them are in for something related to alcohol, drugs, or psych issues. Many non-violent people that should be in rehab, which is where I should have been, are sitting in prison being punished for having a disease. They're not horrible people. Some people just don't get the breaks in life. I'm not saying no one deserves to be there, but in my mind, you have to have done some pretty bad **** to deserve that.
No one expects
An angel to set the world
On fire
But just you wait
Cause one day these flames
That I hide under my skin
Will burn you
I walk in museums
I see all the pretty pictures
hanging like dead dolls
contemplation
on many faces
sadness within the walls
in a wheelchair
over there
he cant even stare
but he sees me I know
I smile
the painting was hidden
not framed
yet still within these halls
www.arthurvaso.com
silk wrapped memories
at dusk I cry
drifting in clouds
I touch the melancholy
reflecting back

we each live another day
suffer...
laugh...
together
we also share the sadness
of things better forgotten
sleep steals the pain
still
a smile is always a smile
as fall takes the flowers
to the moon
For my friend
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