I find myself a prisoner of my own state, the forces of silence I cannot abate,
I am stuck in myself, listening to a now perfunctory debate,
About whether I am alone and cold or have with me the one with whom I most relate.
This open letter may seem immature,
Making our hassles and squabbles a klieg light, without imprimatur,
But I choose to ignore both my impending censure and your imposed censorship –
to cause blustery and see how long you can endure,
before your attention I finally procure.
I cannot mount any assault against Warden Alone,
He rules with an iron fist, an affront would be an insult he cannot condone,
In my previous letters to you I made you aware of this, let you know I was weak and prone,
Yet you still decline to assist, cynical and defeatist, because you’re still warm and safe at home,
I could lose my life at the mercy of the antediluvian ideas held by this imbecile,
Freeze to death in this prison,
my tenuous fingers like twigs in the chill,
my voice attenuated and shrill,
Yet you would still remain flinty, wouldn’t you?
Your acts recently have certainly been telling,
Your hauteur and unmoved demeanour remind me of a perturbed minor, rebelling,
Certain that the world they lived in was nothing but facile in its inviting,
Needing a friend to keep them set on winning, intent on fighting,
While I was that friend when all came tumbling, I have been left to my Self, in 01 with no one listening,
All my letters ignored indiscriminately, it’s like I’m in a room full of din, whispering,
So if there’s anyone out there, reading,
I’m at Lonely Island Prison, Warden Alone has me captive and suffering
Find me in the Least Wing, Block M3, Self 01, and rescue me,
I’m the only prisoner in this facility.
Yours, even in captivity,
Evans Mbora Campbell.