We were just kids in prison,
groping bars of angry certainty:
I am right; we are right.
Just kids in prison, alone to face
the stares of the innocent.
In prison, and just enough sustenance
for ninety days in hell. Hell, we both said,
and consumed each other lavishly,
pleasure marked in paths
like cookie crumb trails. Hell for ninety,
heaven for one: we drank deeply
to drown fear in contentedness.
We were just two kids in prison,
too young to imagine
teeth dropping from dessicated gums
and hair laying limp across dusty foreheads.
It was worth it, right?
I am right. We were right.