I carry a prison upon my shoulder.
It only gets heavier as I grow older.
My cell is familiar, I know it well.
Like my soul, it’s an empty shell.
The jury decided my guilt was real.
My innocence escaped my final appeal.
A silence now bellows, loud in my head.
Will it quiet, when I am dead?
This I fear. I need to know.
Will the torture cease, or will it grow?
To live or to die, or is it the same?
I no longer wish to play this game.
My final moments desire proof,
As a priest attempts to explain the truth.
Words like bandages hide the pain.
The wounds don’t heal, they still remain.
I must let go, to see what’s there.
The worst thing is, nobody cares.
Alone I am. Alone I will be.
A lonely walk to my hanging tree.
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