And this is where they...shall we say – lived?
Can you see? See how the light – as meek
as the tormented – shies away from the floor?

What brutes our forefathers, ma’am, you say?
Perhaps. Those who emerged wore the carapace one way
or another forever more: it bowed their backs, fouled
their eyes, they were cowed, gazed
ever inwards.

How did they come to be here? They were felons, of
course - they robbed; they maimed; they got
high. Some did the unspeakable. I know,
I know – imagine incarcerating deviants
like this!

Shall we close the door? No – a simulacrum
too far?