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It was the
execution of words gone mad,
as he ranted and screamed obscenities,
only to be locked in his cell,
this time, alone in Solitary.
They had
only asked him to pick up his trash,
and try to make the place a little more livable,
but what was so livable about prison,
and being watched twenty-four hours a day.
There was
never any privacy,
as they watched,
always watching,
as he slept,
as he ate,
as he took a shower,
as he took a crap.
Even in
his sleep there was no privacy,
as the memories of what he had done
came to haunt him in his dreams,
playing the scene over and over again.
In his
dreams they came to arrest him,
and brought him to a cold cell of concrete and
steel,
where they had him strip,
so they could search his private areas.
And they
watched,
and laughed,
and taunted,
turning it into a sick game.
Now the
nurse comes to give him his pills,
the ones that will take away the hallucinations,
the ones that will once again
allow him to live in the care of the psychiatric
attendants,
and not in the prison he created in his
mind.
by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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