Photo by  Marquise Kamanke  via Unsplash
Photo by Marquise Kamanke via Unsplash

Was it a fatal mistake that’s got my whole world outta place?
Or was it the lifestyle I’ve embraced
As a youth?
Tell me the truth, God! Give me some proof.
Am I a victim of self-inflicted abuse?
Lord, I’m tryin, complyin with everything I was taught that was right.
Open my third-eye and let me see the light.
Constantly fightin but still swingin in the desk.
Swimmin with sharks, and can’t seem to shake the mischief.
Grittin my teeth, clutchin my sheets, while I’m driftin.
Misery’s creepin and seepin into my dreams.
Using precautions but is it sharpenin my senses?
Clingin to sanity by the strands of a string.
Enterin conflictin battles that surround me, and within me, God send me a sign.
Out of my mind, how much time do I have left?

Is death claimin me in the prime of my life?

 
Disclaimer: The views in this article are those of the author. The Prison Journalism Project has verified the writer’s identity and basic facts such as the names of institutions mentioned. The work is lightly edited but has not been otherwise fact-checked.

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Terrance L. Parson

Terrance Parson is a writer from West Covina, Calif., who is incarcerated at San Quentin State Prison. He is serving a sentence for a non-violent third-strike offense. Terrance says that he always believes the glass is half full, and he has faith in God.