Five eternal years. Five years of misery, despair, bad food, thug guards, and psycho inmates.
I told myself many things to get through that hell. Turns out they were lies.
A week out of the joint and I'm beyond lost and hopelessly alone. There's nothing left of me.
Freedom was supposed to cure all. All it did was strip away my illusions.
The terror of a loveless existence devours me.
"Hi, I'm an ex-con with no prospects or friends." Is that a turn on?
I don't belong in this world anymore.
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