Prison
Prison
Where the thought of death enters the mind,
And hate here you'll always find.
For in here most life is behind time,
When those gates shut one always fine,
Emptiness, bitterness and sorrow,
For one knows its the same tomorrow.
A place where feelings are tested,
When moral madness becomes vested.
Times of shame when one must bend,
To conform to orders that men send.
Still being in this pit is like hell
But know one said it would be swell.
So fine yourself a better home,
For in here fools want to be alone...
Copyright © Michael S. Johnson | Year Posted 2014
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