I’m not a confrontational person unless provoked. The thought of sitting down and discussing the events shocks me to the bones. I’ve bitten off all the nails I could chew and I’m down to the skin of my fingertips. They’re raw and exposed, they sting when I lick them. I’m only so confident when it comes to myself. I never thought that I would be put in the position of defense. The courtroom isn’t my comfort zone.
I’m sick of being in jail.
I can’t stand solitary confinement. The walls start to bleed.
I will never be a model citizen and here I am proving this point.
I can’t be perfect. I can’t be the best I can be.
Time is supposed to be of the essence but what can it be when there is no essence? These voids keep punching through my chest and I know it’s all my fault.
I know I’m the prisoner for a reason.
I’ve smoked so many cigarettes that I’m beginning to believe there is nutritional value rolled into them.
Perhaps I’m just hoping that I’ll die from them already.
I’m sure it’s better than being stuck in my own filth.