This world is nothing. An illusion. Death is the release.

That is how prison is tearing me up inside. It hurts every day. Every day takes me further from my life.

This world is nothing. An illusion. Death is the release.

Imagine a thousand more such daily intrusions in your life, every hour and minute of every day, and you can grasp the source of this paranoia, this anger that could consume me at any moment if I lost control.

Most important, you learn never to trust a man, even if he seems honest and sincere. You learn how men deceive themselves and how impossible it is to help them without injuring yourself.

Because there is something helpless and weak and innocent - something like an infant - deep inside us all that really suffers in ways we would never permit an insect to suffer.

My eyes, my brain seek out escape routes wherever I am sent.