Why I Have to Mourn

I started writing about all of my friends and brothers that I’ve lost over the last couple of years, just from this small three unit space. The list itself is too long, and I refuse to just put names into the ether without telling the world a little about each one.

Alex was the latest. Three days ago. He lived in prison most of his young life. Tattooed and quiet, he looked the part. Straight out another grind house prison where he was taken in by gangbanging assholes who used him up and spit him out. Aryan Family, North, South it’s all the ugly same. He only had a few years left. Everywhere I look the air is filled with songs of Christmas. Commercials of families and love and joy. Halcyonic images like hammers like rain.

They said that he wanted to send out a packet in the mail to his mother on Friday, but the mailbag had already gone out. When Monday came, he was gone. I can’t stop thinking about his mother right now.

When does this end? He was a casualty of this place. IT killed him. It’s not as a CO said so flippantly the next day. “If they want to do it, they’re gonna do it. We can’t stop them.” I try so hard to find a place to put this. It’s not fucking fair that I have to mourn for people who nobody else gives a shit about. I can barely function, barely make it through each day. Why is this my responsibility? Why is no one talking about it?

These questions are rhetorical. Life’s not a tiny bit fair. And I know why I have to mourn. Because when the day comes where I no longer can, then I too will be gone.