ArtsAutosBooksBusinessEducationEntertainmentFamilyFashionFoodGamesGenderHealthHolidaysHomeHubPagesPersonal FinancePetsPoliticsReligionSportsTechnologyTravel
  • »
  • Books, Literature, and Writing

Incarcerated Letter

Updated on September 8, 2017

Lonely nights, cold, no breeze on my hibernation. Starving pacing back and forth my training camp prepping me,

me versus isolation.

Freedoms my determination, rejuvenating my image got to change got to retain Gods blessing hand to even stand amongst society. Cage my demons I understand that I cant blame the next man for my destination, no crying out why me. If I want to smell the sunrise I got to refurbish my life’s objective,

my soul,

I got to take it back NOW as a variety. You come to realize this world doesn’t stride around circling around oneself as numeral uno. The law, especially towards me, don’t turn their eye from crime given felons kudos. An uncomfortable moment explaining to your kids and kinfolks how you were embarrassed deeply as you were constantly slapped around by Lady Justice. All I heard was the gavel slamming with the words


An embarrassment to God, an abomination is what your character now is. No soul, no confident of life, all one can hope is that God could somehow embellish your heart, and pray he touch it. It’s me, I put all on me, life is meant as a grace it is loaned to you not used to take another.

Now a trial is given as a present and freedom taken as a gift.

You’re meant to live free and die in peace. Instead of me kicking the bucket its taken as I’m following through noticing nothing.

Tossing and turning every night in that 4 x 4 cave counting the days I’m standing against the wall blindfolded sweating bullets in front of seven executioners equipped with muskets.

Having nightmares of Lady Justice and a hammer with their hands around my freedom singing ‘YOU CAN’T TOUCH THIS’.

I get it sometimes, this world could be something of like a loan shark. Give you life with interest and rules follow it to the T, pay it back with greatness or watch what you eat.

There’s no shame in living spotless, a whistle clean record, you don’t realize that until a slam is heard when you enter your room of revelation followed by an echo yelling out


Life’s in a glass cup a cup with lead in. Comforted by penitentiary years that I debit. Their saying lights out in 5, sorry to cut it short but I got to head in.

Sincerely yours,

Inmate Triple 6-one eight seven


    0 of 8192 characters used
    Post Comment

    No comments yet.