On the outside, I was a king, but here, I am nothing. Just dust in the wind, floating away just to settle in another decrepit location and be forgotten once again. In this place, you are fresh meat while the others are wolves, some are in packs, some are lone. It doesn’t matter. You’ll end up dead one way or another. I hope one day to leave this terrible place, and become one with society once again, to regain my place on top, nowhere else. The only way out is parole, but who are they? They come here in suits with their pens and paper, to ‘help’ the lost ones. But all they do is send us back where we came from, they don’t really care as they stamp your file as ’’rejected’’ and flap you away with their hands. At least they can pretend they have a job.
Copyright LasTBreatH 2008
A piece on what would life be like in prison.