In the court's confines, I stand and malign,
With each uttered word, my deceit intertwine,
The walls close in, suffocating my breath,
As lies spin a web, trapping me in their death.
In this realm of justice, once noble and grand,
I weave tales of deception, a malicious demand.
But the courtroom shrinks, constricting my space,
My lies magnified, my guilt I can't efface.
A tiny box engulfs me, a prison of deceit,
Where truth is distorted, and falsehoods compete.
My words, like shackles, bind me with each line,
A poetic abuse, for which I may do time.
For when my pen dances, unrelenting and true,
It's an assault on the page, a crime to ensue.
Bloodied ink spills, victimized and accused,
Yet I claim I'm no poet, my stance but confused.
So let my verse be judged, my pen and page,
As they bear the burden of my poetic outrage.
For I am imprisoned by my own twisted art,
Drowning in the depths of my fraudulent start.
©jump3r
J