Twenty-five to life in my mind’s state pen. Shackled thoughts
convict my fate.

I sit behind mental bars.

I await the conclusion to the illusions that grace my face. Day by
day I sit remiss on a bed full of what-if’s.

Did I waste a talent, or fall from grace chasing after a beautiful gift?

I get visitation from others. Man, I can never appreciate their view.
They don’t know me like I do.

I plot on ways to reinvent the old me into a new view. I have plenty of time. My mind is locked away, the key is hidden in the recesses of my mind.


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