The prison grass

this about a prisoner who witnessed a severe beating, then lived in fear.

My ear pressed against the window pane,
was that my name mentioned in a vicious tongue?
Should i creep with wariness through corridors of shame,
awaiting my fate through deeds ive done?

Maybe, maybe not.
A weight is lifted momentarily from my frame,
only to plunge once more with added force,
as whispers creep beneath my door,
to wrap me in my guilt once more.