## I dance with the devil in sin. I load my veins with heroin... Just a look at what ticks inside of me. Careless about the conditions of my body, such as insanity.
These are the types of thoughts that raced though my head as I would sit in my 6x9 coffin. Prison was a lot of things, but helpful was not one of them. You essentially take a bunch of criminals riddled with addiction and mental health problems and pack them into cell blocks and tell them "figure your shit out". The fact that they call it department of corrections is a joke to me. The only corrections I got was to improve my criminal behaviors so I wouldn’t get caught the next time. Because chances are there will always be a next time. With over 67 charges on my rap sheet you think they would offer me some type therapy or counseling in hopes of correcting my behavior. However the "therapy" and lack of "counseling" I did receive often came from medical professionals who that spoke English as a second language. If I wanted help, which I did, I would often times have to deal with language barriers, not to mention cultural differences. They often times would not know what I was even trying to say and if they did why would they care? I was just cattle that would get corralled through their office so they could catch that government paycheck every week. Now I can only speak on how things were in the Maryland Prison system. I will say that the majority of my stays were in maximum security. I did notice an improvement in the staff during my short time I was in minimum security. However, I was on my way out the door at that point and I knew better then to talk about how I truly felt at that point in fear of them taking my parole away. I'm sure other prison systems in America do a much better job than Maryland. Hell it was just a few months ago that the Federal prosecutors filed charges on multiple people who smuggled in alcohol, drugs, weapons, and cell phones to Maryland Prisons. And you guessed it the ring leaders where correctional officers. Six inmates and seven civilian outsiders where also arrested for conspiring with the correctional officers.

So with the staff not caring or just outright using you to line their pockets by just showing up for a pay check or being criminals themselves. **Where was I to turn for help?** The other inmates? Sure, but they were just as fucked as me if not more. My friends and family on the phone or in a letter? Sure if you want everyone to worry about you more than they already are. At the end of the day all I had was myself. I walked in there by myself and I was going to leave by myself. I would read a lot to better myself but I had so much pain and hate inside I had to let it out. Often times I would wild out and end up in fights. That shit didn’t help anyone and just left me with more scars... I carry those mental and physical scars to this day. What I found to help me was to simply push that pen and get my sick thoughts out on paper for myself. I never intended to share these with anyone but I'm doing so just to show how dark, sad, and hopeless I was while sitting in a place that was supposed to "correct" me and offer me help when returning to society. Truth is... You’re more fucked up when you get out then when you went in. ## My 6x9 Thoughts As I sit back and take a glimpse. At my life and all of these events. Suicidal thoughts don’t even make a dent. I'll put a smile on and pretend. By these 4 walls, I'm penned in. By a battle I can’t win. I dance with the devil in sin. I load my veins with heroin. As a puncture, pierce, bruise, and bleed. As I try to take control of this uncontrollable need. This hunger that taken me from me. This is not a cry nor a plea. Just a look at what ticks inside of me. Careless about the conditions of my body, such as insanity. If everyone’s gods child, then I must be on exile. I’ve lost all god damn my style. I gave it all up for this plastic and steel. I lost my ability to care and feel. I’ve lost my insight on what’s fake and real. With the darkest depths I made a deal. So I will continue to rob and steal. Too bad all these bitches love to squeal. But I'm real and already know the deal. Til life or freedom I will no longer feel.

Why I kept these all these years is beyond me. But at least today I am able to share them with a clear mind in hopes that they help shed some light onto how incarcerated people feel and deal with everything. steemit odrau red diamond line divider

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