Depressed Poem by Ima Ryma

Prison was not the life for me.
I thought out ways I could escape.
Deciding on one finally,
A plan began to take its shape.
I got assigned to trash detail;
And studied every scheduled route
Of outside pick ups - to avail
Me my best chance of getting out.
I picked the time, the place, the trash,
And I got dumped into a truck.
I felt the weight of being rash
Compress around me. I was stuck.

They dug me from the garbage bin,
That I had been compacted in.