Poems Of Prison Novels & Stories

When the door finally creaked open, a wave of decay and blood hit them in the face. Ragnar froze in place. The Alpha, who had been shouting about exposing my 'tricks', now stood with a pale face. He was nearly unable to keep his balance. The warden held up a torch and shook his head. “I’ve been running this prison for years. I’ve never seen a werewolf corpse rot like this. Who knows how long she's been locked up in here? “This cell should never have been in use! It shouldn’t have started leaking poisonous gas either. If I had known someone was in here, I would’ve arranged patrols and meals. At the very least, I would've made sure she didn’t rot to death without anyone knowing.”

I recalled how, back in prison, reading and writing were the only things that kept me going—especially poetry. Nothing was born more vividly than poetry written in blood and tears. At the time, there was international competition. I asked the prison guard who had secretly looked after me to submit my entry. I didn't expect Iris to be one of the judges, and I never imagined I would actually win. "I can't wait to take a genius like you to a place where your talent can shine. Will you come to Romero and be my student?" Iris asked. I couldn't hold back my tears when faced with Iris, who was like a mother to me. I had never cried in the past eight years.

After being released from prison on Christmas Eve, I find my wife, Jessica Wright, waiting outside the gates with our daughter, Penny Joyner. The late fall sky stretches overhead in a warm, golden hue, but the look in Jessica's eyes is cold. "How annoying," she says. "They just had to let you out in time for Christmas dinner." Penny covers her nose in disgust. "Mom, Dad smells awful! I still like Uncle Caleb better." I remember how Jessica used Grandma's illness to force me to take the fall for her first love, Caleb Moore. Because of her, I went to prison in his place. It is also Penny's words that finally destroy the last of my hope. She says, "Dad, just go. Uncle Caleb will take goo

"A Caged Snake Still Bites" Elane’s POV The worst part of prison isn’t the bars. It isn’t the cold. Or the endless clatter of metal trays, or the stench of bleach trying to hide blood and piss. It’s the silence. The kind that seeps through cement walls after the lights go out—when the coughing fades, the moaning stops, and you’re left with nothing but the sound of your own thoughts chewing through you like rats in a basement.

Maybe. But me? I’m still here. Counting the days till I can stretch my legs, light that first cigarette, and find out if the streets still remember my name. And when I’m out… I’m not just walking free. I’m coming back to life. Word travels fast in here. You wouldn’t think so — with all the concrete, steel bars, and guards breathing down our necks — but in prison, news slips through cracks faster than light. And lately… the whispers have been different. They’re not about gang beef or contraband smuggled in laundry carts. No.

RPOV Songs: Should Have Known Better by Sufjan Stevens, The Ghost Inside by Broken Bells, Sweet Disposition by The Temper Trap It had been two full weeks and I was nowhere near being closer to escaping my luxurious prison. It was probably a little harsh calling it a prison since it was far more lavish than any palace I could remember—little less a jail cell—but my stuck up captors were refusing to let me leave. They insisted it was for the best right now and that when the time came they would personally escort me home, but how could I trust a group of people I had never met and knew absolutely nothing about?

With him I never felt that I had anything that I could not share with him but when I came out of jail, I had no one with whom I could tell my feelings so I started writing down what I had endured in prison or seen others do. I met some women in jail. some of them were innocent like me, whom others had made them reach here by framing them for their benefit, and some were there for crimes they had committed under some compulsion. I saw a glimpse of me in them who were there because of their family. The family who left them alone in their difficult times.