Interrogation Room

I remember the 

Interrogation room,

Cold, damp, and gray.

As I looked around

With cuffs on my

Hands, noticing the 

Eye of the camera

Documenting each

Move I would make. 

The detective came

In the room, with

A loaf of bread,

Breaking it in half,

Handing it over,

While I eat and notice

The gruesome photos

With blood on my hands

But no knife 

I've known to hold,

As the detective asks me

Questions I have

No answer to.

I look at the paper

With options from

A, B, C, to D, and E

But the cuffs on my

Hands make it hard

To reach the pen

So as to circle

The correct choice

For the detective to

Grade. 

So I was found guilty, 

With stutters as my

Native tongue.

And my Miranda Rights

Were read to me

Like a bedtime story,

Although I couldn't remember

Whether or not

There was a right to

Remain silent,

So I fell asleep, 

Singing the song of

A lullaby in my head,

Before I had awakened at

The table,

With breakfast served 

In the courthouse. 

And the judge had

Hit his mallet,

While I had vomitted the

Eggs and bacon, 

Smiling for a brighter day

With rain supplying me

Like orange juice,

Vitamin D,

And I had made my humble

Home in an electric chair,

Incapable of moving my arms

As the electricity had

Covered me with its

Angelic wings,

For I had been handcuffed,

And sentenced to life

In confinement.