Dear Murderer
How are you this morning? Good sleep? I hear prison beds are more comfortable then the hard sidewalk and damp cardboard that I lie on, when the sun sets.
Have you eaten this morning? I’m guessing that’s a yes. This morning food was short and once again I went without.
Are you warm in your dry, clean cell, when I shiver and freeze in the cool November breeze? It’s funny to believe the things I hope and dream about, you have and you are a murderer.
Many say it’s wrong to kill, even if that person has killed, but who decides what’s right and wrong? To me the world is upside down, a constant spin, round and round.
So, Dear Murderer, you stole him from my grasp, my dear friend. You have won my dream and I live in your punishment.
Why are you too good for death, but you can take a soul from the earth, a soul that’s not yours to take?
So, Dear Murderer, what I want to know is why we are saving you? Shutting you up in protection and my own paradise, face your consequences - Face. Your. Death!