incarcerated

living and dying
in a cubicle
of ten by ten,
marking time
with chalk on a graffitti
filled wall of dead men's names,
who lived and died
here before my arrival,
one with no family,
no friends,
just victims,
the other with children
whose mother was slain
by their father,
and now me,
the thief
who stole your heart,
abides here forever,
for taking the life
of another man
who stole your body,
he's serving his time
in a grave,
while I'm doing mine
in a prison's cave,
alone with my memories
and the history of two dead men
on the walls.