Nicky's Affliction: Inside the Mind of Juvenile Correction

Finally, I’m called by the court officer, where the highly esteemed stature of his directive personality momentarily befriends me with a welcoming acknowledgement that tells me to step forward. The worthy ideas of his position seems remarkably true through the official patches of his attire and numerous keys that are used to open the many hidden gates in this world, into other dimensions far from this public’s watchful eyes. A bold and very loud regard for those whom will step toward a judicial throne, is made significantly praise-worthy through the association of this awaiting ruler’s messenger. The crusty lips of morning, bull-horn, my newly bestowed nobility with a screaming fame that tells me to come forward with a mouth that glorifies my name with numbers. A deep seeded complaint quietly wails in the unseen space of my emotional worries that belies the external presence of my fresh face and clothes that comes alive in the care-less wonderment of this audiences imagination. The meaning of Nicky’s, just another joe, existence is pondered with whatever attention. One risen, blurry reflection from this rainbow of life, in its judgmental walk, is briefly in a split-second, displayed, for all to see. My name think-fully simmer on these minds, internally, echoing, NICKY DORSEY.