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A man walks through a dark, dilapidated building with blurry shafts of light
Photo by Echo Grid on Unsplash

I see a lot of individuals looking worn out, beatdown, unhealthy, hopeless 

and tired. I hear a lot of voices speaking of the past, but their present and future 

have no highlights. I smell pleasant aromas of incense, mixed with alcohol

being prepared and foul body odors all cultivating in the same air. I taste recycled 

tap water every time I feel thirsty or dehydrated. I feel the thin mat on my back 

when I lay on a metal slab. With a cold concrete wall joined next to me like 

twins that are born stuck together. One day of my life in prison, 

these are my five senses.

Disclaimer: The views in this article are those of the author. Prison Journalism Project has verified the writer’s identity and basic facts such as the names of institutions mentioned.

E.D.H.

E.D.H. is a poet who was raised in Compton in Los Angeles. He is currently incarcerated in California. He has asked to be published under his pen name.