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.