Jailed
Written 6/15/02
I just want to curl up and hide -maybe
even cry.
But no, not die.
Or maybe I do.
I'm sick of this body -this prison.
Made of flesh and bone -instead of concrete and stone.
The doors are locked, and Death, the warden, has the keys hidden.
I'm serving a life sentence -escaping is forbidden.
It won't end until he says -not before.
But some days I wish he'd unlock the doors.
It's not like I'm wimping out -I've served enough time.
Besides, I don't remember committing any horrible crimes.
But I've got more time to serve -says he.
Which I can live with, I guess, but I can't wait till I'm free.