no god would stoop so low,
to break a mind already fragile,
or put innocence in a cell,
let alone make it pay for some sinless crime.
there are ghosts who don’t leave,
they cling like smoke,
they stain a man’s skin
with the black of all he’s seen and felt—
screams sealed inside walls,
eyes kept wide, without sleep.
in prison, the screams bounce...
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