Prison Depression

I lay on my bunk staring at the ceiling. I can picture the end of everything. The ceilings collapsing, crushing all of us in our small pathetic world. Maybe a large piece of metal would cut right through me, or the bricks and iron would crush my skull.

This place is evil. I can feel it everyday. The energy overwhelms me. I’ve never felt so much hate in my heart than I do in this place.

Is the only love I feel a fantasy? My heart beats so fast I tremble. Have you ever taken a bad drug, or smoked pot one day that you sit, thinking of a million things and you feel like you’re going to have a heart attack? Like some strange mental breakdown of fear? I’ve been feeling that way a lot lately.

I’m getting more afraid to believe it’s real. It can’t be. It won’t be. She won’t be able to love me. No one who knows all of me and everything about me can love me.

I’m afraid of the world. I don’t want to see anyone… I don’t want anyone to see me or know I exist anymore. Can’t I just disappear? Can’t I just find a gig on a farm somewhere far away where no one knows who I am? I can have my own garden. I can meditate at sunrise. I can forget what pain is.

This is my world. I know how to hate. I know how to not trust. I know how to spot malicious motive, danger, and predators. I know how to tolerate. I know how to be fake. I know how to not write at a desk, without light. Without sanity. I know how to be inspired by self portraits of barbed wire fences and sounds of thunder that wake me from my dreams. Fuck James Joyce. Sleep with one eye open. The sound of keys send chills up my spine. Danger. Fear. Everywhere. REDUNDANT.

I’m beginning to think something is wrong. I don’t feel too well anymore. Death feels near. Has for some time now.

3 months ago, I dreamed the end of the world. I saw it like I see this paper I write on at the moment. But I only remember my last thought. My last second before the demise. I knew I was alone. I knew I couldn’t say I love you’s or goodbyes. All I could do was drop to my knees to pray and close my eyes. Dark skies.

Every time I go into the North Chow Hall I think of really great spoken word pieces that I promise myself I’ll write down and never do. You are all so normal and perfect. Fuck you.

2012

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