Locked Up and Heartbroken
Every day in prison is lackluster, but today was exceedingly shitty. I was denied for the third time at the parole board and given another 24-month “hold.” Getting hit at the board is basically getting another sentence. Lucky for me, this time I do not need to see the board again ‘cause my “conditional release” date is coming up and since I completed all required programs with a good disciplinary record, they have to let me go. The conditional release date is basically two-thirds of the maximum sentence. After six years of incarceration, you might think that an extra seven weeks isn’t really a soul-crushing penalty -- and it really shouldn’t be -- but evidently it is, ‘cause my girlfriend dumped me when I gave her the news, 15 minutes after I got the letter from the board.
After epitomizing love and loyalty and visiting every month, trekking eight hours each way on the shitty ghetto bus for 20 months solid, she is giving up. I was very sad to hear that she forgot why she loved me. I understand that the extra seven weeks is not easy, especially in the summer, but damn…
There was no, “Aw shucks, babe, that sucks, but everything will be OK. I’m sorry we can’t be together sooner, but less than two months is still right around the corner.” I only heard a tone of icy hatred and utter indifference. Who was this woman I’m conversing with? She reiterated how much she resents me (females always explain resentment to me while I’m locked) and offered to “sit down and talk” when I get out. What happened to “I can’t wait to fuck the shit out of you,” or “I want your dick in my ass?”
GODDAM THE MAN! How fuckin’ depressing! Twenty-two months of fantasizing about organ-busting, sweat-drenched porno bonin’ and in one day it’s reduced to “we can sit down and talk.”
Of course, I fear she is fuckin’ someone, or at least seriously considering seeing somebody, but she vehemently denies my accusation and even has the gall to feign exasperation that I’d even suggest such an implausible question. I can’t think of any other logical explanation, but I guess my life has been highly illogical for some time now. I reckon a nice upper-class white girl should never have vowed to ride out a two-year prison stint with my degenerate cracker ass in the first place, but once she made it this far, with only two months left… How in the name of sweet Jesus do you bail before the BIG PAYOFF??
The future fuckfest was the last strip of glue holding the relationship together, I’m afraid, and she probably found some jerkoff to temporarily satiate her hungry, hungry fuckholes. It’s a damn shame ‘cause my pelvic flour is craaaazy right now. The romanticness was unbelievable while the dream lasted, but apparently she wasn’t strong enough to hold out a little longer.
I spent so much time dedicated to how I’m going to freak this girl in every way imaginable, and now I have to think about something new. The best way to cope with this shitty situation of being dumped in jail is to just hit the weights harder, run the extra mile, spend the extra half-hour in the spunkatorium making sure my cock stamina is dynamite and writing about the good, the bad, and the ugly. With only two months left in prison, it’s best to stay positive and smile ‘cause it’s almost over. Even though a piece of me is missing, I can’t act like a fuckin’ bitch.
Bert Burykill is the pseudonym of a guy serving time in a medium-security prison in upstate New York for drug possession. We don’t want to get more specific than that, because apparently the prison doesn’t look kindly on its inmates publishing anything negative about incarceration.
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