There is little more room than a cell,
Personal purgatory, a heartbreak hell.
Night has fallen just beyond the door,
Daylight gone, evening sun no more.

The bare-naked bulb casts a shadow,
Beating down a figure beyond its glow.
His long-form, a hulk of unhappiness,
Stirs in the area where he must dress.

Personal effects lay about this place,
Filling in blanks, covering the space.
Still, he knows it ain’t home,
Not his tree and not his loam.

Here there is little more than survival.
A place where pain becomes delightful.
Where a broken heart lives in misery,
And only the criminals are set free.