Prison Poem by Tapiwanaishe Pamacheche

I have been in a trail
For a year now, for a crime
The jury or the judge don't know, neither I knows it.
I had succumbed all the summer blisters and the famous winter vodka nights
Waiting for my trail,
In this abyss my chains are
Much warmer than freedom,
I have been lost in the corners of the chambers,
The rays that touch the bars and reflect the shadow on my face like a bust of a slap,
I feel the intensity to value the little things when they come in depth and intensely.
Am loving the romance of pain upon my chest, the drug of knowing that the bliss of freedom will enclamp me in this cave filled with horror and the horrid nature of it is more daisy and the days passed within me reaching eternity with questions of why this prisons were built they are like prose and drama of agony that I feel the feliz.
The majority of my crimes is to be writer with a hand that unravel the truth ruthly and dig the graves with a needle until the dark night owls light the torchs to help me what is terribly, fathomed deep in the crypto. What crime did I commit?