the time
he spent in the big house.
scratching
numbers
onto the wall, as the dark
days
crept by.
he tells me about sadness
and depression,
regret
and guilt,
the lines of bars on the wall.
he tells me
how alone
he felt all those years,
sleeping
on the small bed,
the cot,
staying up all night, making
wishes on the stars.
full of suspicion
and fear.
it was a hard
life he tells me.
but i'm never going back,
i'll never get
married again, the words
i do,
are words
you'll never hear.
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