Thursday, February 17, 2011
A man sits in a jail cell serving a life sentence. He doesn't want to live anymore. To live the way he must live means no women, no safety, no life, no nothing. Just the rest of his life sitting behind bars waiting to die. He wants no part of it. He wants to die, better death than God knows how many years in the hole. Everyday he looks for ways to kill himself. The guards took everything they could think of so he couldn't try to hang himself with his shoelaces like he did last time. The guards love when they get a guy who wants to die. They know they cause the man great amounts of pain by keeping him alive. The have no concern for life, they enjoy the amounts of suffering they can cause the man. The pride themselves in the duration of the man's suffering. They know full well that at some point the man will find a way to kill himself. Imagine seeking death as fully as you seek to regain your freedom. You would do anything! Imagine wanting death so bad. Imagine death as freedom. Wouldn't you hate the man that kept you from your death, your freedom? All night, you would lie awake in your bed all alone, thinking about your death like you were thinking of your lover far away. You would miss what you never had. You would find a way to kill yourself. You would, you would die somehow. Some die inside, the guards can smell that a mile away, they can tell when a man's dead from the inside. They give up. The leave the man alone, the let him get fed to the sharks. That's how I feel sometimes, dead from the inside. I look in the mirror, I look dead, my eyes look tired and gone. Sometimes when I walk down the street I think that no one can see me, that's when I wonder if I'm dead. Like a big garbage hole. You can put stuff in but it never gets full. In fact you never see any of what you put in there again. Kind of like in one ear and out the other, but down and out of sight. That's where I'm at right now. I'm nothing and I'm passing time without guts to make a move in, out, up, down, or otherwise. That's the name of my tune. That's the ring on my hangman's noose. That's my death row hallway walk. I'm fake, artificial. I think at one poin I had it. I had it down but now I'm a swinging man. A cold breeze from way down the hallway blows my dangling body back and forth from day to day. Life has nothing in it worth living for, not in my mind. I tried all the things that were supposed to make me feel more alive and they damn near killed me. I was lucky once.