As long as I am nothing but a ghost of the civil dead, I can do nothing.
That is how prison is tearing me up inside. It hurts every day. Every day takes me further from my life.
My eyes, my brain seek out escape routes wherever I am sent.
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.
I find it painful and angering to look in a mirror.
The part of me which wanders through my mind and never sees or feels actual objects, but which lives in and moves through my passions and my emotions, experiences this world as a horrible nightmare.