Transcription
Solitary Panel 01.20.2013
Fries With That
I'm too far gone. I'm never going to be able to make it up out of this. "He's crazy", they say, "he's got MENTAL issues." Because I refuse to associate. Refuse to affiliate with anyone.
But when did I become crazy if I isolated since first grade?
My last essay, last poem, and the thrombosis/murder connotation/references. I'm against this wall. My heart hurts. I believe I had a heart attack and part of it is dead.
And I'm looking back on my life and see only me alone; see me alone but at ease thus. What's stopping me from going on Death Row and living like a king until my heart fully blackens?
Because if I get out of prison I'm not going to... it's not going to be good. I'll admit that. I can't trust nobody and I don't feel normal unless I've not spoken to anyone for weeks and my brain is flighty with non-communication. It's like I'm addicted to being sensory deprived. Where will I fit in in society? Could one get paid for sweeping a clean floor three times a day, brushing teeth until they bleed and washing hands a hundred times a day?
I could just picture me working the McDonalds drive through window. Taking two orders then running off to the fridge in the back. Building a cell out of boxes of hamburgers and fries.
Then lying down on my back on a pallet of cardboard chanting "Leave me alone. Leave me..."
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