Solitary Man

Solitary Man

a solitary man
in a cool
dank and dripping
concrete cell
grows accustomed
to the smell
of his filth
the taste
of raw slop
the fleas
and rats
crawling over him
at night
and whatever idiocy
the voices
in his mushy mind
tell him

the man
in his solitary cell
has suffered
been chewed upon
to open sores
and rawness
by rats and fleas
while nourished 
by rubbish
and slowly

the man
in his solitary cell
scabbed and frail
when the door
finally creeps open
hides inside
like a prize
his hard-earned adaptation
his arduous acceptance
of his lowly
solitary life
where the bugs
and rats
the stained walls
and the stench
and the voices
will always
accept him
and comfort him
for all of his suffering
and the world
his voices will say
should forever
offer him

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