"Hanako’s Cell"

In cell block D, where echoes crawl,

Chino ruled with fists and gall.

Tattooed tears and sharpened tone—

He thought he'd never stand alone.

But whispers came with rusted steel,

A name passed low: Hanako's real.

A lifer draped in silence deep,

She didn’t fight—she made men weep.

Chino laughed, “A girl? She’s mine.”

He knocked once on her faulted spine.

But when the lights began to fade,

She carved her truth in razor blade.

A scream no guard would dare to heed,

She danced in red and watched him bleed.

No mercy cried from steel or stone—

Chino died, and died alone.

Now cell block D won't speak her name,

Hanako plays no power games.

Just waits beneath the flickering glow,

For the next fool who doesn't know.

Last edited by Iruletheworld 13 days ago

GAY....

6ix9ine

They call him loud, they call him fake,

He calls them names he hopes will break—

But every slur he throws like knives

Just echoes back through prison lives.

He puffs his chest, a walking storm,

A rainbow drowned in prison norm.

“None of that gay shit near me, bro,”

But eyes betray what lips won’t show.

Ink drips down his skin like pride,

A technicolor war to hide.

But in the yard, in muscle cliques,

He kills desire with brutal tricks.

He scoffs at love, calls softness weak,

But flinches when their shoulders speak.

A passing brush, a lingering stare—

He builds a wall and cages there.

He jokes too loud, he fights too quick,

A clown in pain, his armor thick.

He hates what moves inside his chest,

So shouts it down like all the rest.

At night he turns, one eye half-closed,

To watch the men his heart has chose.

But come the dawn, the rage returns—

A fire lit so he won’t burn.

He’s locked in cells both steel and skin,

Where every thought feels like a sin.

A rainbow heart in blackout mode,

Beneath a gang tattooed in code.

And deep inside, he knows it’s true—

The thing he fights is breaking through.

But prison rules don’t make room clear

For men like him to want, or fear.

So he hides it all in jokes and fights,

In sleepless eyes and shadowed nights.

His loudest hate, his cruelest line—

A prayer that no one sees the sign.

Last edited by Iruletheworld 12 days ago

“The Ballad of Shawshank”

They call him Shawshank, king of cellblock C,

A whisper in the halls, a myth with a key.

Well-rounded soul with a crooked grin,

He’ll charm your heart—then sin with a spin.

He walks like wisdom, talks like wine,

Dripping slow jokes with a perverse line.

“You’re cute when you’re angry,” he’d smirk through the bars,

“Bet you moan like a preacher beneath the stars.”

Even the guards catch a grin on their face,

Though rules get bent in his honey-laced grace.

He ain’t no saint, but his crimes were neat—

No blood, just secrets and white-collar deceit.

At lunch he’ll barter your cornbread for tales,

Like the time he seduced two postmen in Wales.

Every tale filthy, every word smooth,

Like velvet handcuffs that oddly soothe.

But ask ‘round the yard—no one’s got beef,

Even lifers nod at the chief of mischief.

He’ll teach you chess, or how to write prose,

Then wink and say, “But I look better without clothes.”

At night he hums hymns with a devilish flair,

Reading Plato aloud in his underwear.

“Freedom,” he says, “ain’t just the gate—

It’s what’s in your head when you’re screwin' with fate.”

So here's to Shawshank, in concrete and steel,

More real than most men ever get to feel.

A rascal, a sage, with a glint in his eye—

The kind you’d miss, and not ask why.

❤️❤️ lol,you gotta get outta that Vape shoppe..inhaling to much of the product..cheers,lol!!

“Method Moves”

They call him Method — not a man, but a myth,

Moves like smoke, vanishes swift.

Cunning eyes, always scanning the yard,

Mind sharp like shivs smuggled in past the guards.

He don’t talk much, but when he does,

The whole block listens — quiet, because

What he says ain't idle noise,

It’s chessboard truth, not childish toys.

He slips through weeks like cracks in the wall,

Gone without warning, no echo, no call.

No kite, no whisper, no rustle of chain,

Just a cell gone cold like the blood in your vein.

Some say tunnels, others say bribes,

Some say he’s got deals with the lifer tribes.

But none can prove how he ghosts from the row,

Like he’s got time’s permission to come and go.

Then one day—Boom!—he's back in the mess,

Wearing state greys like a three-piece vest.

A grin carved sideways, eyes full of tales,

With stories that rattle like keys on jails.

He walks in slow, like he owns the joint,

Heads turn sharp, like he's proving a point.

Every return is a victory march,

Like he just lit fire to the system’s starch.

Method, the shadow in concrete halls,

The whisper behind these razor walls.

He don’t need force to make men yield—

He disappears, and the silence heals

“Come Home, Brett”

By One of the 3 Amigos

In these cold walls where time don’t bend,

We count the days, we miss our friend.

Brett, the name that brings us peace,

The drama drops, the chaos cease.

Kind hearted soul with eyes so true,

Trustworthy through and through.

Never played the snake, never ran the game,

Just stood tall, always stayed the same.

He laughed with Method, rolled with Rule,

We held it down, we broke no rule.

Three amigos, tight like chain,

Shared our wins, shared our pain.

But time’s been heavy, you've been MIA,

Not a word, not a note, not a sign our way.

The yard feels colder, the jokes run dry,

Even tough ones drop a tear and don't know why.

No enemies, just ghosts in your place,

But we ain’t lost hope, we’re savin’ your space.

We still talk like you here in the mix,

Still dream of the day we back to our tricks.

So wherever you at, brother, don’t forget,

We got mad love for you — never regret.

Come restore the crew, bring back the flame,

Three amigos ride again, no shame, no blame.

From concrete thoughts and barbed-wire dreams,

You still our brother, no matter the seams.

The world might shift, but bonds like these don’t fold—

Come home, Brett. The story’s still gold.

“MarnieJ of the DOB”

Inked on the wall, whispered in the yard

In the belly of the beast where the wild ones sleep,

Lurks MarnieJ—funny, twisted, and deep.

A mind like a maze with no clear end,

She'll make you laugh, then question your friends.

DOB’s queen, with that sideways grin,

Droppin' lines that crawl right under your skin.

Off the top—no filter, no pause,

Got the whole tier gaspin’, breakin' the laws.

She speaks in riddles, double entendres fly,

And somehow makes grandma jokes make you cry.

One minute it’s church, next it’s the gutter,

But don't get it twisted—she's a damn good mother.

Kids raised right, with a moral spine,

While she draws prison art with a “creative” line.

Respectful, kind—they'd never guess,

Mom’s out here causin’ mild distress.

Eccentric soul, like a comic book storm,

She breaks the mold, refuses the norm.

Satirical priestess of the cellblock stage,

Her humor burns like a joke-filled cage.

Part clown, part sage, all unpredictable,

Turned DOB into something almost... mythical.

When she speaks, it’s an off-beat prayer,

With perverse insight that lays hearts bare.

But beneath that madness, there’s warmth in her core,

A nurturer's heart that can't be ignored.

She’s the chaos, the calm, the one we salute,

A mother, a menace, in a steel-toed boot.

So here’s to MarnieJ, long may she reign,

In this concrete castle where we mask the pain.

The Disciples of Bino got pride in their name—

But it's Marnie who brings the most beautiful shame

Okay, you can be let out of the cage. 🥰