Broken Men

Sometimes I feel like giving up

On helping crims break the cycle

You load them up with good intentions

Fresh pathways and plans

To come good and give it up

This mugs game we call jail

And you watch as they all come back

The first time

The second time

And forever onwards

Their best years spent futile

Watching sitcoms in the slammer

Or chasing a skerrick of sin

When they manage to smuggle it in

Where’s the fun

Where’s the girls

No parties, no music, no love

Just ugly souls

Living on top of each other

In a cell with a bunk bed

Not much trust, not much friendship

And no freedom to live

Like the wild men they are

They all come back…

Someday I’ll give up

Trying to fix these broken men

There’s few things as depressing as seeing a mate get out and come back on new charges. It’s painful to see crims waste their last chance as the sentences get longer and longer and the lessons never sink in. In the six years I was locked up I saw one inmate come and go five times. The last time I thought he had the cycle of crime and addiction beat then he showed up again with fresh charges. Everyone says it’s a mugs game and it is, even if you make the most of it you still miss out on life and family and achievement.

It’s a cruel irony as well that the guys that get themselves locked up are the ones who live so wild on the outside and then are forced into boring tedious lives on the inside.

The recidivism rate is intensely high.

Something is wrong with the system.

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