Prison Realities

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Prison Realities

Prison is not the way people think it is.  Only prisoners know the real prison.

The real prison is lonlines that sinks its teeth into the souls of people.  Emptiness that leaves

A sick feeling inside.  Its anxiety that pushes and swells.  Uncertanty that smothers and strikes.  Its frustration, futility, despair and feelings of indifference.


The real prison suppresses, deadens and crushes.  The walls seem to close in on an

inmate.  It makes life w/o meaning, life w/o purpose.  Its being incarcerated w/o even notoriety.  W/O the traditional storybook and intrigue.


The real prison is where people struggle ferverently to find the answers to themselves.

The place of routine, where livin is A weary task.  It’s a place of hopelessness that’s

never portrayed on T.V.


The real prison is the mute drama of people who have been payin for their debts for 5, 10, 20 and even 50 years and know that even still their debts are still never paid in

full.  To much real prison is sordiness, indifference and disappointment; crowded in

the confines of corrections are people who have seen so many third rate motels room

in so many different cities, to many smoke filled gin mills on to many skid rows: to many days w/o beauty and to much darkness w/o light.


The real prison is more formidable then the walls make of stone, steel bars and gun towers.  It almost shouts contempt for its fumbling and gropin humanity.

It listens unhearingly, unheedingly to the cries of the damned.


Prison is cold, hard and merciless.  It’s the place of many reasons many

causes and many failures.  The place of countless untold stories.


The real prison is the empty feeling that gnaws at A man who awaits with anxious

anticipation for the letters that never comes and the visits that never arrive.  It’s a

place of despair for the youths committed for the rest of their natural lives.  A future

that has been taken away.


The real prison is the place of regretful men who took lives in the moment of

anger, once the moments of passion were spent, they began payin for their crimes, and

haved payed for them in A thousand different ways.


The narrowness of A cell that crushes and bears 2 heavily, speaks of the real

prison.  The strains of familiar songs on the radio that stab and torture the memory

part of prison life.


The emptiness of days and the lonliness of the nights are repeated endlessly.


The Real Prison?  It is the prison only those who live behind the wall, in the

midst of the action, in the belly of the beast, will ever know.



MA Correctional Institute


To: Sophie


From: Chance


Verbal sentiments to let the views into my vicarious life.

Everybody might not enjoy the read but regardless of anything

I hope that its felt, otherwise, it defeats the purpose of my




Rare Breed

Rare Breed

When someone asks me, “what happened?”
Their like, “you know, with that or this.”
I say “oh, I didn’t tell you?
Because, it’s none of your business”!
Want to know how to find out if someone’s real?
I’ve got a suggestion, that’s quite ideal.
It’s a plan to be signed, stamped, and sealed.
To set yourself straight, through this whole ordeal.
When asked to do a solid for a supposed friend.
You come to find out, he stabs you in the back in the end.
Because, no matter what, everytime.
He’s the first, to drop a dime.
Ones true colors, come shining through.
Still you remain, as always, old school.
Facing the consiquences, like a real man.
And come to truly understand.
That you alone, were caught commiting the crime.
And you alone, shall serve the time.
Don’t take someone else down with you.
And remember to always remain true.
Keep it in mind, as you walk these streets.
We’re hard to find, this rare breed.

Written By: Derek Lindsay
Maine State Prison



She always knew.  Playing the color of my persona.
Soft.  Passionate…..
You killed him and the others,
               Sweet, the taste of revenge.
When I saw you; day….
               Melted snow, cold.
I was so cold, blue eyes radiated such
sickening beauty, wanting-lust.
Affaid at first, come closer.  The look.
               A body.  Unhuman.  Perfect.
She was unearthly immortal.  Undying.  Sapient.
I never fogot that day---I always knew
                    my death.

Maine State Prison

Recidivism Nightmare

Recidivism Nightmare


Insanity hath no rest upon me.

Does my current grasp the scent of wrongness?

Lack of control surely is my demise.

Snakes slide and slither in circles with hiss.


Be banished ye serpents!  I see as traits.

My chemistry is outlandish, help me.

I can find no balance in my tumble.

It is misery to feel this discreet.


For a second the days sun brings good joy.

For a year decades pounce me thunderstorms.

The says sun comes quick and makes a half smile.

Then my own snakes, so lustful, find dreams torn.


‘Freedom oh freedom’, your sweetness lurks me.

A lovely strawberry; rotton, I eat.



Harold Sanford Carter III

Maine State Prison