What’s it Like on Death Row?

The real hell is in the cells, where we are alone
with ourselves and our thoughts. . . I am told when to
shit, to shower, to shave; I am fed slop not worthy of
pigs; I am psychologically abused and misused,
sometimes beaten, and all the while waiting, waiting
to be killed. The cell is not large enough to stretch
your arms out in, yet you are placed in it for years on
end. For the lucky guys whose families can afford to
buy and send them a TV or a radio, they will at least
have these items as a great time-killing device, as
something to help you forget that you too are here
for a killing.
I am overwhelmed by the psychological changes
and physical humiliations of death row. But amidst
the daily degradations, the constant harassment, and
the perpetual denial of my human rights, the thing I
think about the most is the fear. The fear. It is always
here, just around the corner. This is a world of violence,
hostility, loneliness, and SADNESS. . . I only
hope that I can maintain my sanity and endure.