Anarchy

Solitude

Instead of sitting, just feeling my decay

I'll write a to-do list for today:

Hear their footfalls beyond the barred door

See the plate slide onto the floor

Touch the food so dry, bone dry

Smell the outside world and cry—

No. Men don't cry. 

But am I still a man, like any passerby?

Wonder how long a time it has been

Since you were free and since you were clean

Try to keep track of time—and fail

You can't do nothing in this jail

No, I can't do anything, but be blue

(Grammar Nazis rush to the rescue)

Feel the cold air bite—the pain

That sometimes makes you go insane

With no-one talk to and no-one to blame

Are you a number or are you your name...

Never believe that, they can't change that too

Even if they've changed everything that makes you...you.

I must stop this, I tell you, I'm stopping

'Cause no-one writes to-do lists in their coffin.

Am I already buried? And buried so deep

I feel like I'm one step away from Sleep

(The Big Sleep in Death's Keep.

WIth all those capitals. Duh)

But somehow, somehow I'm still alive

Why would the grave-diggers want me to survive?

Write a to-do list, and just get it done.

Then wait for the sun, the sun, the sun—

THE SUN.

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AN: Solitary confinement is supposed to only last a few days. Not weeks, months, years, decades...On July 8 2013, prisoners across many California prisons went on hunger strike for 60 days in protest of the indefinite solitary confinement of some inmates. Let this be a reminder that even sinners should be dealt with morally.

Inspiration: There's this book on my bookshelf called 'Getting It Done'. It's my father's. Ironically, he hasn't read all of it yet despite possessing it for many years. That got me thinking about to-do lists, then about the unlikeliest places a to-do list could be in...