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Shaft of light beam into a dark from from a small window covered with security bars
Photo by kyolshin on Depositphotos

Stuck in wild monotony,
Boiled eggs and light bread breakfast seven days a week.
Next door neighbor talking to no company — constantly.
Guards belch and walk by, blind to his mental demise.
They even laugh when he eats waste out his own ass.
Entertainment for free, it’s part of their salary.
Young’un upstairs bangs nocturnally, next rapper to be.
No Peace!
No Sleep!
What’s life in the pen with no dreams,
A dark hour, bleeding in the shower.
Shanks and shivs,
No place for kids.
A dungeon with no dragons, just killers with potential and no wings.
Stuck in wild monotony,
Prison rehab, K2, synthetic weed.
Mikey OD’d, fentanyl addicts nodding in these penal streets.
It’s OK, officers don’t pay taxes on that cash anyway.
Applaud the institution of recidivism,
Empty beds and COs don’t get fed;
Full house, state checks don’t bounce.
Stuck in despondent arenas of wild monotony,
Is this shit supposed to reform John Doe and me?

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.

Eric Jones is a Native American writer incarcerated in North Carolina.