One-eighty on the 401—*steel door slams*Then the steel door closedSame man, no road, just a number and clothesThey took my laces, drawstring, chain and phoneGave me one thin sheet and a number for homeNo whip, no crowd, no angle to sellSteel mirror don't care what the image suggestsRange got loud, one look sat wrongPride said swing, so I swung before the thought got longOne fight, two fights, every win cost daysPut a smaller box inside of the cageCO said eat, I ate; count, I stoodShower by a timer, sleep when I couldI said nobody controls me—that line went thinWhen another man decided when the day could beginThen the phone stopped buzzing. Nobody could collect.No three names waiting. No promise to extend.Hated every lock. Still slept through the count.All the noise went quiet when the lock shut it out.No calls to dodgeNo cash to findThe quiet I kept chasingcame locked from outsideThat wasn't peaceMy body slept anywayTIME CALLS COLLECT—PRESS ONE, PRESS ONE (ONE)FIRST BID FELT QUIET—THAT'S WHAT WENT WRONG (WRONG)No road, no phone, no face to impressJust my name and a number when time calls collectPRESS ONE—Four walls stay when the whole story's spunBlame them, blame home, blame me—still lockedTIME CALLS COLLECT—PRESS ONE, PRESS ONETwenty-three and one, tray pushed through the slotFluorescent light never learned how to sleepFootsteps pass, keys scrape, names get readSink, steel toilet, no door by the bedNo chune, no loud, no face to impressThat's the part I hate saying: in there I could restOutside was ten fires; inside—count, tray, gateThe cell had a shape. Every hour had a placePaper said "risk" before they read what I didPostal code first, then the whole man gets missedBox got ticked. Initials. Date.Facts came later. The lock didn't wait.Some men lost seasons while the file moved slowSame count, same tray, nowhere else to goTheir boot can be real. So can my prints.Both truths fit easy in a cell this thin.Blame is warm in a cold cellTruth don't warm nothingThey failed me—I kept runningBoth can be trueSteel don't pick a sideFour walls stay either wayTIME CALLS COLLECT—PRESS ONE, PRESS ONE (ONE)FIRST BID FELT QUIET—THAT'S WHAT WENT WRONG (WRONG)No road, no phone, no face to impressJust my name and a number when time calls collectPRESS ONE—Four walls stay when the whole story's spunBlame them, blame home, blame me—still lockedTIME CALLS COLLECT—PRESS ONE, PRESS ONEEvery explanation had an address.The Crown. The house. The ends. Then mine.I blamed myself till the blame felt deep—Like hating who I was could make concrete weak.Shame ain't a tunnel. Rage ain't a key.No clever last story makes a lock release.I can win every argument inside of my head.The door stays steel. The bed stays bed.First bid taught the wrong thing: I lived, so I laughedCalled eighteen months a story already in the pastKnew count, knew range, knew which key meant mineFamiliar ain't safe, but it prices down timeKeys had a language. Footsteps had names.Steel mirror looked normal quicker than it shouldThe man I swung on split canteen when I had noneHard rooms get ordinary without becoming homeNo bills to chase there, no version to sellJust count, tray, lock—and the day ran itselfThat's the trap I carried back through the gate:not wanting the cell—just no longer scared of the waitSo the next risk got weighed against time I had doneFirst bid felt survivable. Then came the next one.TIME CALLS COLLECT—PRESS ONE, PRESS ONE (ONE)FIRST BID FELT QUIET—THAT'S WHAT WENT WRONG (WRONG)No road, no phone, no face to impressJust my name and a number when time calls collectPRESS ONE—FOUR WALLS STAY WHEN THE WHOLE STORY'S SPUNBLAME THEM, BLAME HOME, BLAME ME—STILL LOCKEDTIME CALLS COLLECT—PRESS ONE, PRESS ONEThe system failed us.The house failed us.I failed people.I failed myself.All of that can be true at once.None of it turns the lock.To accept this call, press one.*keypad tone*I press one.It opens a line.Not a door.
