White Paper, Printed Text, Pencil, 11” x 4”.

Text (Printed): William Doss, Prison

Prison, like a grave yard to me. The dead walking asleep.

Constantly consuming like a beast, instinctively succumbing to defeat.

Prison, a State by design, outfitting me passively with hypocritical labels, an animal, no home training, a savage.

Overseer’s thinking for me.

Infectiously, I’m mentally dying.

Fear keeps vocally inactive, closely guarded from life, subtracting.

Passing through the colon of history, constipated from the ignorance being fed to me visually.

The foulest stench of complacency in the air.

The criminally minded, weakly wander from here to there. Shackled, a ball of pro shadowing each step.

A heavy burden on the shoulders, yoke around the neck.

Prison, like freedom or death.

We carry on is the cry.

Look deep into the window’s of the soul, the quest of why?

The galvanizing steel, barb wiring to the sky, meant as a deterrent to slow you down, if you try.

You’re held against your will.

Although willfully, you stepped inside.

To escape a dream, you literally chased a lie.

There’s no intervention. God is Man. Man is Mind.

Shhhh! No need to argue, just listen.

Prison, the external facade of the internal odds, proves chances are, most will do it again, if in the end, they could be a star!!!

Handwritted: #245820, LAKELAND Correctional Facility, 141 First Street, Coldwater, Mich. 49036