Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge!
The Ghost of Prison
I am torture in a box
six by eight to be precise
My walls of concrete,
Pain and teeth gnashing sorrow
are indigenous in these parts
My teeth are of cast iron
a decaying greyish color.
My mood is as bliss in slumber
of sullen thick, leadened clouds
the feeling of a cold december
No one walks into my realm
and walks out the same
I instill fear in many hearts
at the mention of my name
I torture those poor, piteous souls
who fall into my lethal grasp
I'll put sensual dreams in your mind
and wake you up with nightmares
Whisper words of freedom in you ear,
you turn around, theres nobody there
I'll listen in on your conversations,
with your friends, your wife, your mother,
your sister, your brother, your lover.
I hear your innermost thought
and conceptions on life,
even when you're whispering
I am the ghost of Prison cells
love me, hate me, or respect me
but you would learn to fear me.
Written by Chinomso
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