Photo by Cameron Smith on Unsplash

Lost,
In the jungle of despair,
Surrounded by wolves,
Lions, tigers and bears.

Where the fog of confusion
Forever dwells
And the stench of death
Is all you can smell.

Like crabs in a bucket
They hold each other down,
Moving without progress
Like a merry-go-round.

Mentally in prison
The inhabitants chase the wind,
Doing the same thing and getting the same results
Again and again.

This is the place
Where Frankensteins are made,
Programmed to do one thing —
Obey.

Loneliness is the blanket they give us
To sleep under at night
Comfortable with their circumstances,
Most don’t even put up a fight.

Lost,
But I’m determined to find my way.
How can I call myself a man
Yet allow everything that makes me a man
Slip away.

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

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Jamsson Telisma

Jamsson Telisma is a writer incarcerated in Florida. He has published a book called “The Book of Spade,” with three more books of poems and a children’s book awaiting final editing.