|
| |
Raped and Assaulted in Florida Prisons
they chain you up
strip you down
the lights never go off—
just the screams shift
to new throats.
the guards play blind,
or worse, they bet
on who breaks first.
some poor bastard
bleeds in the shower
and another one
learns not to cry too loud.
this place doesn’t correct—
it cultivates.
grows men like tumors
full of rage,
their names erased,
but not their pain.
you let them rot
in filth and fire,
then send them home—
like matchsticks
snapped and ready to burn,
now all they want is revenge.
Copyright ©
James Mclain
|
|