The hours in between

I’m a convict not an inmate,
I’ve been in here before.
Thinking makes me suffer
As I crawl across the floor.
Like a prison built on madness,
It scars me to the core.
So I move in midnight hours,
Where my shadow can’t be seen.
Pounding out my penance,
In the hours in between.

Please note: I welcome comments that are offensive, illogical or off-topic from readers in all states of consciousness.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.