Friday, September 18, 2009

Gray Walls

It’s the dreary dull sameness,
Day in and day out,
In here where I live behind these stone walls.

It’s not so much the tasteless boring slop.
They so willing call food, not fit for pets, let alone people.
Lying here on this plastic tray, staring back at me.

In this place, where the color of my bike and the color of my enemy.
Are black as the night that I can’t see from in here.
I breathe in the stagnant stench of rotting souls.
Laced abundantly with something that smells too much like fear.

It’s not the cramped space where I constantly pace back and forth.
Stretching my legs while trying to quiet my mind.
Nor is it the metal cot I lay on, hard and cold at my back.
I draw the scratchy gray blanket over me for comfort, in the dark.

It’s not the inhumanity or the lack of respect.
Worn so proudly by those that keep me locked away.
In here, where fear pours down like acid rain.
Death could be considered a step up for some.

Here where a look in the wrong direction could end a life.
That is where I live behind these gray walls.
It’s not the sorry sounds condemned men make at night.
Alone with their demons; that twist a man’s soul, making him all the more hollow.

It’s the lack of humanness, or humanity, no eye contact, no touch.
It’s like living in a bubble devoid of all nearness, warmness and kindness.
Leaving many feeling like the walking dead.

Although there are times when I close my eyes and see visions of iron sleds,
Roaring across rivers of asphalt, adorned with chrome and fiery shades of red.
I imagine my Brothers thundering down the open road.

In this dreary sameness I mark time in slashes on this gray wall.
Time tarring at my heart, as it beats inside my chest.
Stifling the urge to yell, or kick, or scream, or fight, or worse.
I must keep your memory safely locked away.

It is painful me to think about how it felt to touch and be touched.
Remembering the silky texture of your skin; so different from my own.
Always softer and warmer; nothing feels like that in here.
Not until I drift off and go outside these walls that hold me.

Outside in that world I can smell your perfume.
I can touch your softness and hear your sweet words.
As we ride past these stone walls almost making me believe.

Please know I dream of you and my Brothers.
It is what keeps me going, keeps me sane and keeps me alive.
Here behind these gray stone walls.

For Dakota with Love,
Six Shooter Sally