Poems Of Prison Novels & Stories

maybe 3 feet long. Prison smells like the corpse of a dead animal used to house the lost souls of unwanted people—neglect, corrosion, and decay mixed with the fear, oppression, and loneliness that come with incarceration. Prison reeks of thousands upon thousands of people from diverse cultural, ethnic, and hygienic backgrounds, confined to endure a hostile environment plagued with dehumanizing factors. You can smell the blood, sweat, and tears that stain moldy mattresses and prison blues, or the garbage and filth that litter the catwalks and gun rails of the cell blocks.

I dug my nails into my palm to stay awake, then crawled to the door, leaving a trail of blood, and started pounding on it. "Please!" I yelled. "I need a doctor!" Nothing. "Please!" I slammed the door with all my strength. "My baby is coming..." My voice was raw when a guard finally answered, bored. "Save your breath. Ornella's about to pop. You can see a doctor after she's done." "But the baby will die..." "Then that's what you deserve. An eye for an eye." I collapsed, my body freezing cold. So that's what this was. In their eyes, my baby's death was payment for my sins.

As that past and exchange heart, he gambles upon knocks in his mind right now, and with his words. “‘SNOW Cloud’, the poem behind this painting I made just for you, which means a sad goodbye of never.” The words and promise he gave them time and the life he shares now with the person he unexpectedly met and now is holding near in his life and heart. With the life was never his since he was sentenced to death and committed the taboo that defies what God is set and given a rule of. He is in prison in the darkness he chooses, gave up the hope in living, and became the person whom he is not as he drowns into the darkness and throws all of what he knew to be reality into waste and everything in i

“Yeah, there’s silver woven into the fabric.” I couldn’t help but actually laugh at that. What did he think was in there? Did he think that it would be bars and that’s it? They want to make sure that prisoners can’t ‘wolf out’ as one of the teens had put it not that long ago. “You think this is funny boy?” “Ahhh slightly. Not too sure what you were hoping for when you were sent to the cells, the dungee-on, the prison… we could sing the Folsom Prison Blues together if you’d like.”

💥💥💥 22 February 2010. The afternoon sun saturated the prison edifice in its golden, cosy light. Specks of dust particles seemed to dance in the shaft of the bright glow, slanting the prison windows. The blotched sun seeped through the canopy of tall trees scattered around the prison wall, creating mysterious and grotesque shadows of the heavily breathing prisoners. A group of wild prisoners encircled Christabel, each deriving fun from her wounded form.

I was here forever. This pack prison was different from human prisons. No communal dining hall, no yard to walk in. Every day, I only had one hour to exercise in a cramped room with a concrete floor and windowless walls. One hour to release pent‑up energy. One hour to remember that I was still alive. I started with push‑ups. A hundred. Two hundred. Three hundred. My arms no longer trembled like they used to. My muscles had reformed—hard, solid. Prison had not made me weak. Prison had made me harder.

So much for all that welcoming speech to my new home. Home. It's a place, I thought I had. I haven't had one permanently for a long time. Now whenever I hear it, It sounds so foreign. My mind goes to thinking if there would be a chance to ever turn this prison into a home. I felt a painful tinged in my chest, for it would be the greatest illusion of all to think that Charles can make this a place home for me. For no matter what happens, it will always be a prison. Just like the rest of the people around me, they will never be free from this life they chose.

On the night of their fourth wedding anniversary, Raymond Whitmore stood on a Boston stage and unveiled a perfume called Eternal Claire, dedicating it to the woman he swore he would love until his last breath. The world called it the most romantic gesture of the year. Claire called it a cage with a golden lid. Because thirty minutes later, a stranger sent her a video of that same perfume being poured over another woman's naked chest, in a suite two floors below the ballroom, by her husband's very hands. For four years, Claire had traded her PhD, her name, and her silence for a marriage the tabloids envied. In return, she got a mother-in-law who called her barren, a husband who called h

As one of the five pillars, or duties. As soon as the truck stopped, the prisoners were immediately asked to get down. Men were separated from women, anything of value was robbed from them. Women were violated and were stripped of their hijabs while searching their bodies for anything of value that they can sell and make money of. The soldiers acted as if the prisoners were mute, ignoring their every cry for mercy and help, begging to be released.

'What? He smiled. 'Prison is a place where a person is being confined to; surrounded by walls and iron bars. The wall is not breakable without having to alert the next prisoners, or the guards.' She looked at him, listening. 'In that little space, you are left to feel nothing but your heartbeat and when it rises and how loud it is. Then you hear the water going down each toilet and flies flying around you; you hear impatiently mosquitoes waiting to feast on your blood but then you think about these things as you shut your eyes; maybe your neighbor is impatiently picking on you or teasing you.' He paused.