Imprisoned Ad Infinitum | Poetry

I sit in the rancid dark as the sole light grows dimmer,

They said it’s only for a little while as the chaos slowly calms,

But since that day, everyday, the bleakest of hopes seem even grimmer

I touch my face to find it burning, but the heat is only from my palms.

The jailer makes his round everyday, brandishing his disciplinary cane,

I shiver and shudder to the sounds of bones breaking two cells away,

The residents tell me he killed himself before the jailer touched him, yet not in vain

I abandon all hope; this is the horror of a prison where I stay.

But then, I never did say the cane hurt anyone,

Nor did the jailer grotesquely murder a soul.

Never did I say the door wasn’t open to leave,

Nor did I say the chaos was outside,

But then, I never said that my jailer wasn’t me.