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prison

Cardboard Boxes

Loud voices. How annoying.

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No one escapes the box
No holes, can’t breath
No sunlight to see
No hope, can’t leave
In the dark the mind plays games
Demons and shadows, no faces, no names
They dance and battle
Confrontational, no shame
From inside the cement box
The cement blocks the outside’s clocks
Tossing glass inside stone houses
Sharp shards prance
All the small pieces
Individually, no meaning
Prisoners, no feeling
Illusions of identity
Profound how having ears to the ground sound loud
Shouts drown down
Nothings on the other side
Beg to die
But this prison named hell has other plans aside
There’ll never be goodbye
Stuck here beyond death
Fucked clear to regret

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Institutionalized

Circumstantial imprisonment happens quite often. Justice is a fiction told to people desperate for a fantasy to believe in. Put the animal in a cage long enough and watch it respond to its environment.

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The interrogator with the evidence, the reports, the witnesses and the accusations is always the last to know the truth. Left with only assumptions.

The suspect without any of the evidence, any report or witness enters knowing he’s innocent from the start. A fact memory serves well.

Yet, six months training, a badge and a gun convince the interrogator his intuition is more valid than personal experience.

Biased jurors, law bound judges, money hungry attorneys with cleverly worded questions and a year worth of court visits turn a man into a monster.

Ten years in a cage with murderers and thieves corrupts even the purest of saints.
When the bars are pulled away and the sunlight is remembered awareness settles.
It was safer in the box.

In the outside world the word of truth goes ignored.

Preconceptions get twisted and morphed.

Friends and family who knew more kept silent.

Fear.

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In Bed With Arthur

Arthur, after having liberated the evil from the corrupt family, was once again caught by the corrupt police and returned to his prison. The cage where they accuse him of insanity. He knows the bad guys don’t win. And he’s the hero of the story, so he will not lose.

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Eyes open, I’m in bed
Six years, been like I’m dead
Tech sticking from my head
Strapped, chain down
Dark room, no sound
Mind rush, go round
Fear, possessed now
No exit near while held down
Tears, the scream bounce around
Leering gaze from the shadows of the room
A crooked grin, hazy, sharp teeth, it’s hungry too
An abomination, with no hesitation it…

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Meanwhile...

A thought on the madness of American’s on 6/22/18

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We murder and enslave over who’s dirt is who’s, then fear crossing imaginary lines.
Yet, we allow the children to starve and the sick to die having all the resources.
We cast blame on each other and deceive one another, then struggle to trust anyone’s word.
Yet, we riot for truth and shun those who don’t lie so well.
We refuse to acknowledge when we don’t, and rather ruin things than confess.
Yet, we hold guns, make mistakes and send each other into cages knowing we weren’t ready.

 

Meanwhile…
They rob us and the bombs fall.

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The Great Subtraction

Kids in cages.
A Poem.

45 is smaller than 0.

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I’m going to flip the shit if they crack another motherfucking whip
Can’t handle it when I can’t spit
Rambling blazed for days
Holding a fucking clip
Shit stays the same way
It’s making me sick
Staring down barrels drunk
Like we’re outta luck
In stasis sterile faces that won’t quit
Cages mistake small kids
Taken away
They can’t be seen
It seems history repeats it’s scenes
Screams don’t stop the suit’s schemes
We should be ashamed
Turn the cheek and sneak away
Cell phone in hand
Selfies behind screens
Eyes on ‘em like laser beams
Hit record on that cam
Life the video game
It’s our mask while we hide in the dark
We’re Batman
All going insane
Yelling the same phrases night and day
No response
It’s like that
No one listens and things don’t change
Deranged, we keep playing the same way
Won’t fight back
Maybe someone brave will stand and save the day
But every time we call the hero someone ends up shot
It’ll happen until we’re down to zero
The Great Subtraction in action
This extinction event is meant so we can’t repent
When the end comes through
The end meant for those that won’t do
What they want us to do
The way they want us to
That’s just for me and you

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Fighting The Crooks: Part 2

After learning the president has been lying to her for as long as she's known him, Team Leader Rachel Chambers sets out to learn the truth behind this secret facility her and her team have walked into, in this second part to Fighting The Crooks

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As if a veil of lies was lifted from her, team leader Rachel Chambers is frozen. Stuck. Terrified at what her eyes can’t unsee.

Hidden from within the shadows with three of her squad mates they watch as The United States of America’s First Lady directs a heavily armed troop to prep children for slave labor.

This team, self-titled ‘The Patriots’, have been faced with the cold hard truth that their patriotism has been in the name of a corrupt government all along. Their willingness to serves blinded them from what’s been going on under their noses all along.

“What do we do, Cap?” Zack the medic asks for the second time.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I need to think,” Chambers replies. “God! This is so fucked up!” She clenches her fists and jaw fighting back the urge to gun down every guard in the facility. But knowing she’d get killed in exchange is enough to hold her back. There is more than meets the eye going on in this facility and she needs to get to the bottom of it. She needs to get revenge on the corrupt president she’s served for seven years being lied to every step of the way.

Chambers’ thoughts are fogged while resisting the tunnel vision to act immediately. “Alexander,” She says.
”Yes, sir?” The stealth recon officer asks.
”Take charge. I can’t even focus,” Chambers tells him.
”Immediately, sir.” Alexander responds. For her entire fifteen year career leading the team she’s had Alexander Paviolla by her side as her right hand. Her better and calmer judgement. Her best friend. Greatest rival. Second in command. No soldier does Chambers trust more.
”Okay, team,” Alexander begins.” We have to get…

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But 'Merca

A country of emotional jackasses with little thought.

They clearly don't understand the situation with the children.

The don't understand the adults they arrive with are not family, they are coyotes or smugglers attempting to enter the country pretending those are their children.

They clearly don't understand anyone that can prove they are related manages to stay together as a family.

They clearly don’t understand coming into the country illegally is... Well, illegal... Therefore, a crime... Thus, they are criminals just by coming in illegally. Because... Its illegal.

They forget what prison is whether immigrant or not, which is to get removed from your family and put into cell or cage for your crime. Thus, an illegal immigrant goes to prison for the crime.

The clearly don't get that there are like 17 Latin American countries these kids come from, not just Mexico, and without paperwork we don't know which.

They don't understand most of these kids show up alone anyway.

The clearly don’t understand the foster system continues to lose children and its literally safer to put them in a cage.

Trump says lets build buildings to put them in and house them and then the people scream prison and say no. Thus, a cage is the only option.

They don't understand releasing these children is impossible because there is nowhere to sent them without knowing where they came from...

But... 'Merca.

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Static Breeze

In this short poem Jack attempts to express his mental prison to the reader.

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Bird watching from inside a cage is no fun
All the flight possible is witnessed with our own two eyes
All while bound behind bars, the cage door open
What fun is flight alone?
What fun is gliding the wind without a flock?
There’s no point in leaving the cage
But staying inside no flight is possible
Having clipped wings might make it easier
But not all caged birds learn to sing
Iron bars become the norm
Comfort the enemy
The rainbows never come visit
Neither do the rain clouds
A bird that learns to hum a fallen soldiers honor
It needs no more than another fallen soldier
Is this its purpose?
What good are wings on a corpse?

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Held Back

...the pretender isn’t strong enough.
Not to calm fears of recoding the system.
Not to forget margin for error.

Zipped lips with sick slick words and an unpickable locks tick quick building up for the explosion.
Increasing pressure meeting resistance must be equal or greater in energy value to said resistance to avoid collapse. Overfilling can result in a system breach and total failure of resistance.

Imaginary handcuffs for the judged
Ignorance holds the key.
A prison cell of conformity.
Embodied...

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