The friend next cell

A small hole
In the standing between us
Where air goes through
So air would blend
With the other room’s.

Teeny tiny, dark rooms
Spooky day and night
No human voice
No news
No sunlight
No moon

An iron door
An iron fist 
With the butt of the gun
Always the door is hit 

It rings real loud
It deafens

Another hole 
Between the bars 
Of a small window
Of my cell’s door
I sneak through it

I see
The man outside
Eating doughnuts 
Drinking soda
Then burps

I crawl back near the wall
(hardly can move 
Handcuffed and chained) 
I whisper to the friend next cell
“I hate the man outside,
I will not let him inside 
I know how to treat guests
Not sure he knows how to be one.”

He hits the door again
A sign for us to go to bed
I close my eyes 
And sleep

The next day I don’t wake up 
The next cell man is dead
He’s been dead 
For a long while

The grave soaked 
With the smell of life
Now that it filled mine
As well
I died
I lived
I was freed.


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