Suicidal Cell Block Blues

Here's hoping this will change your mind about something

Living in this chamber my spirits have been dead

When the inmates’ aura takes hue of muddied red

I lock myself away where I won’t get in a fight

I turn down at my bunk, simply concentrate and write

Till disloyal wrists impugned my body’s disguise

Alas, using my pen to slit them was unwise

For when the guards saw depression’s tangible expense

They showed their findings to The MAN, Whose guilt’s recompense

Was to take my pen from me, restricting work’s growth

Sabotaging blatantly hope and spirit both

 

My pen stripped from my hands, I turned

To a guitar whose tunes I learned

The feeling of the strings so stiff

Arranged my mind to think as if

I’d never been sad in my life,

And strings took my focus off strife

Till one day revealed what it was

And depressed that truly it does

Nothing, my solemn view told,

That until my body is cold

In this cell I’d rot in despair.

Upon grasping the fate I’d wear

I tied the strings together right

And fixed them around my neck tight

Attempted to deck my live corpse high

And just before I choked, “Goodbye,”

Entered The MAN, His handcuffs jangle

HE removed me from my dangle

HE cuffed me, roughed me, scuffed me good 

Told me, “Harken, for thine own good,”

I’m taking thy strings, they scare me-

It’s dreadful strings that impair thee.”

Absent are refrains of the past

Silenced as are pains of the last

“It’s for thy safeness,” HE assured

His only proof being His Word.

Of writing and music devoid

A barely vital humanoid

I sleep on my bunk without hope

Imagination lost its scope

Life lacking in infrastructure

My hollow heart has been punctured.

 

Discerning man’s prime axiom

One can attest it is to cum

So I mustered my sad remnants,

Briefly checked for other tenants,

And commenced the stimulation

I seeked self-gratification

But, due to my despondent mood,

Bliss came not of process crude

In my bed I was disinclined

Outside my bed I’d come to find

Something to provoke sweet climax

Of loins whom apathy attacks

Renders useless by disinterest

In things besides physical rest

And so, to retake pleasure lost

What must be paid but a small cost

Asphyxiate thyself and feel;

Feeling itself is the appeal

Thus, with plan and focused tension

By clasped throat came sensed ascension

So close to reaching pleasure’s peak

Was I when there was a loud creak

Entered THE MAN, Who had espied

Myself, hands round my neck, and pried,

“What dost thou desire to conduce?

Have not thou reason to adduce

For thine obsession with danger?

To thee, fitness is a stranger.”

In the pit of His genius mind

A resolution HE did find

Smartly moral was His answer

To the issue of my cancer

 

Now I can’t write or play guitar

Thanks to THE MAN, watching from far

HE fixed my grief with His commands

And all HE did was break my hands.

 

Choices mad, made by me

Only make me regress

THE MAN knows my journey

Omniscient and selfless

HE helps me to be free

And freed by HIM I’ll be

I’ll make myself helpless

And I won’t hear or see

Vagaries conceived just impede

THE MAN’s Grand Plan, for HE’s to lead

Only by knowing less

Can His aid come to me