I see the pain in your lost eyes, and see, all your life ends in cries.

My whispers every night never reached you it seems. Now I only see you in my vivid dreams.

Whether it's going up or down or just round and around I cannot figure it anymore.

Now in its 14th year, ‘Artists with Conviction’ is an exhibition of art and writing by people at the Risdon facilities as well as people on parole in Tasmania.

As I strive to read this paper, I am constantly bombarded with various forms of attempted conversation.

In the past, I laughed at tree huggers, sandalwood-scented hippy buggers. But all that hatred was ill-fated, now that I'm incarcerated.

Where once I held, a life so charmed, so clean. So pure. Not odd!

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One day we will part, “Yes” you and me, that’s the day they set you free.

I think that God is dead, and he really isn't there, or maybe he is on strike, and he just doesn't care.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is this man I see? Mirror, mirror, on the wall, that man there can't be me?

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