Trying To Maintain

F O U R T E E N

Drill

I had to bring in the new year in solitary, during a lockdown, while locked up. This shit can drive a sane man crazy. All you got in the hole is your demons. You either fighting them or giving in to them.

Why did I help kidnap that nigga?

That whole situation had nothing to do with me. But, I really wasn't in the right state of mind and wanted to help a perceived friend. It was hard dealing with my mothers death. I took it hard. Even though she was already in hospice, already given an expiration date—it was still hard. Nothing anyone could have said or done would have prepared me for losing my world. My t jones was my world.

It didn't even really go as planned—that night—nothing happened the way it was supposed to. Now I'm sitting in here because I didn't know how to deal with my emotions; I let my emotions cause me to do some real life dumb shit. I regret that night. I know a lot of people say they have none, but I do. I regret that night. I would not have the face of two nigga's in my head that I killed had that night never happened.

I wouldn't have any bodies at all if it weren't for that night. Me? Killing somebody? I wouldn't have believed it if I heard it. Me, in jail? Never thought I'd live to see the day. Every time I close my eyes I see them niggas. That's one thing that the therapist couldn't help me with. How to get the life you took off of your mental. I couldn't tell her no shit like that. Murder is the ultimate crime; there is no amnesty nor statue of limitations for it. I feel stupid for telling Boot about it.

It did kind of help to talk about it. I know it's irrational, but I hoped for a future with the nigga. Like be together when we get out type shit. But no, I once again let my emotions move me enough to do some stupid shit. Now I'm sitting in here fighting the worse parts of me by myself. Not only am I dealing with my own shit, I got to hear all these other nigga's demons as well. Some of them are unnecessarily rambunctious and I hate it.

This cell cold than a mother fucker in here too. I been in here for twenty-three fucking days man. They can let me out. I'm not about to do nothing like that again.

I can't believe I let the nigga get to me like that in the first place. I knew the nigga wasn't ready for that type of shit. I just ain't like the way he made me feel about it after the fact. I was baby and bae whenever he wanted to nut, but any other time I'm Drill or Drevon.

That's my dumb ass fault anyway.

All the other people in here willing to let me fuck, but I'm here stuck on stupid. Never again. I know they going to make us switch cells since we got in to it, but I don't even care.

I really do though.

He really brought the crazy up out of me for real. I kind of feel bad for how bad I beat his ass, but he had me fucked up. It is what it is now though. I thought my little stent in here would be smooth sailing; but that's too much like right in a place like this. The belly of the beast cultivates all forms of misery and evil. I personally don't think it's meant for humans to be treated in this manner.

But, who am I? I'm one man and everybody don't view it like I do. Like, I know they made certain shit illegal for a reason to uphold that thirteenth amendment. The one that says slavery is abolished unless a person commits a crime. Lo and behold, the "black crimes" hold more weight than anything.

Why crack get you more time than powder? They both cocaine. I think it's because crack is preferable amongst minorities, while powder is the "rich mans drug." Most rich men are...white. Not saying there aren't any rich minorities, just that the majority of them are white.

"Jones! Get your ass up! You finna hit the shower before you go back to gen pop." I hear a guard at my cell yell.

Finally!