On the floor in the corner,
urine marinated cigarette butts.
The smell of stale sweat and stale smoke.
A hastily shredded letter in the toilet.
Soap scum around the sink.
Dried razor hairs and lunger spit.
A roach camped out in the toothbrush.
A metal slab full of holes
and a smut book under the lumpy mattress.
It has already been raped.
Misspelled words on greasy walls.
I recognize two names. 
Both killed in the line of outlaw duty.
A rust stained and semi-shredded towel.
It is clearly marked, “NEVER TO BE SOLD”.
A dust encrusted and naked light bulb.
Makes darkness more welcome.
Home for the past 4,583 days
and can you believe it ceiling,
can you hear it bars,
can you sense it mister,
I’m still sane.