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.

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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.