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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required serving time in a florida prison is like dying with your eyes open— no blindfold, no last cigarette, just the slow grind of the sun on metal roofs and men on men trying to survive the next breath. It’s like being dropped into a war zone without a rifle, without a knife, without even your damned fingernails— just the skin you were born in and the fear chewing its way out. They tell you join a gang or be meat. Simple math. No philosophy. No God. Just the promise that if you stand alone long enough somebody will take what’s left of you. And the guards— hell, they’re the ghosts walking the tiers, bringing in eighty-five percent of the poison that keeps this whole circus spinning. They shake your hand with one palm and sell you your coffin with the other. A typo on bad paperwork can get you unalived— and the judges know, the prosecutors know, the whole machine knows. They’ve known for decades. It’s cheaper to break you than admit they were wrong. So men walk out years later, shaking, half souls, half shadows— called “free” but too ruined to hold a job, trust a hand, sleep through a night. Worthless, they say— though it was the system that wrung the worth out of them. And in those cages here in florida, there are hundreds, hundreds of the innocent rotting like fruit in a hot truck— waiting for someone to open the doors, waiting for someone to admit they were never supposed to be there at all.
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