Writing a letter to cell block eight
Still trying to get the sad story straight
Scribing pacifying lies
"I'm sorry if this arrives too late"

She asks me to brighten the gray
To shed light on a jailbird's day
Though I do not feel so inclined
I send her drawings anyway

She writes about our memories
Which I term awkward travesties
of nights with atoraxia
via illicit amenities

Of smoky rooms and copper wire
Broken glass tubes and acrid fire
Statutory infidelity
Among four lesbians-for-hire

Of weekends spent in a dank daze
Of schitzo fits and purple haze
Of drinking games in trailer parks
And perverse affection before-plays

Its obvious that she used me
She pretended I was someone else
- the woman who brought me to be

This is the last letter she'll get
I will no longer pay another's debt
This is the last she'll hear from me
And I mean that sincerely.