Poems Of Prison Novels & Stories

The atmosphere in the prison was thick with despair, the heavy air suffused with the stench of hopelessness. Lucas could feel the biting chill of the chains that bound his wrists, a constant weight dragging him down in the confines of his cell. His body ached with the wounds of battle, but it was the ache in his heart that weighed him down the most.

Most of the of the people in the cells are mostly innocent people who Sinclair have put here for not helping his course or finding out about his plans, But over the course of the time I've been here and Adonis became King he has released a lot of people, It wasn't a big prison anyway, we are about 50 inmates here, Life here has taught me a lot about life and making the right decisions at the appropriate time mostly as a man. Me and Rissa are seated on the table after waiting in line to collect our food from the prison cook. When we sat on the steel tables, Rissa bent her head down looking at her food and shook her head, She raised her head back up, “I'm fucking tired of this shit.” She moane

Why? My prison seems to be a storeroom: rusted steel shelving piled with boxes and paraphernalia lines one wall. Another is stacked with dusty chairs, some up-side-down, teetering one atop another, a table with a broken leg, ancient computers, doubtless long-since defunct... To one side of me, cardboard crates are stacked haphazardly on top of one another, some old, some new. Some look unopened. Others are semi-rotted, the card peeling apart to display the corrugations inside

I stretch my fingers and toes within the constraints of my bindings, reminding myself that even when they cage the body, the mind remains untouchable, unconquered. The aching flesh is a passing storm. My defiance is eternal. In this oppressive darkness, my senses sharpen as though the very deprivation fuels their fire. I close my eyes and listen—not just to sounds, but to the spaces between them: the subtle shift of air through tiny cracks in the walls, the faintest echo of footsteps pacing above, the muffled murmurs of voices too distant to discern but close enough to remind me the world keeps turning beyond this cell. Each sound is a thread I weave into a map inside my mind, a mental bluep

~Serena~ Prison wasn’t new to me. Stranded on the cold ground, locked in isolation. I’d been captured and tortured more times than my fingers can count, and I survived all of them, yet this was probably the only prison I can’t escape. My oblivion.

After all, everyone knows what happens to abusers in prison. Then I was here, in this stinking, ugly, foul place, locked in a cage like I was some animal, isolated from everything, from everyone. They said I would be here for a few days. They call it adaptation, but I couldn't believe anyone could adapt to this, that anyone could adapt to bars, restricted freedom, this slop they gave me to eat. No, adapting was impossible.

A woman, her beauty tarnished by the ravages of time and hardship, stood behind the rusty bars of her prison cell, her eyes pleading with a figure shrouded in darkness. Her tattered clothes hung loosely from her slender frame, a testament to the hardships she had endured. As she spoke, her voice cracked with emotion, her words tumbling out in a desperate bid for freedom. "For how long do you wish to keep me locked in here? Haven't I suffered enough? How much do you wish to punish me for a single mistake?" The mystery man remained statue-still, his face hidden in the shadows, his presence marked only by the faint sound of his breathing. The woman's eyes strained to penetrate the darkness, sen

“Your inability to distinguish right from wrong is itself a form of irresponsibility toward patients. “Who’s to say you won’t be the next Tawnie Lowe?” Three years later, I had become a renowned expert in the field. Meanwhile, Tawnie made headlines again. She was dead. She died that very night she was released from prison, stabbed to death by Matthew’s family. He had been the only university graduate in his family. Yet, fresh out of school and just starting his internship, he was sent behind bars. His family was consumed by hatred for Tawnie for ruining their precious son.

-LIANA- The clang of metal buckets jolted me awake, echoing like gunshots in the hollow belly of the prison. Older inmates barked curses, younger ones whimpered. Somewhere, fists collided with flesh. The symphony of hell. I lay still, staring at cracks in the ceiling, my body one large bruise. Hunger gnawed at me, my throat dry. Slowly, I pushed myself upright, clutching the frame of the bunk for support.

“Honestly, I'm glad I did it. I feel so happy. Just as Kavrian found his home in hockey, I think I have found mine too.” “Yeah yeah. You just have to input Kavrian in this.” She teased and I laughed. “Oh don't start. Let's just eat.” Cressida POV In the prison, my lungs burned as I inhaled the poison in the air, poison meant to keep me weak. My legs and hands were chained to a wall, and my mouth tasted like death. It was dark, with just a torch hung on the ceiling as a source of light. I couldn't smell or feel anything because of the poison in the air.