It is cold. The only thing I can describe this place: cold. Everything inside here is cold. The long winters where I press my face against the bars to feel the frost delicately break my face and tear off my skin with its small fragile hands so I can take a breath of the outside world- is cold. The days where I sleep on the bed wondering what I have ever done to be put into this contemptuous abyss of misery for which I cannot escape the clutches of impotent and melancholy- is cold. Those days where I cannot cry no more because my tears were broken and beat out of my body by the other scornful demons who are kept in this iron hell until one tear breaks free in zeal just to breath as it runs down my face- is cold. Nature is cold, the bars are cold, the nights are cold, the bed is cold, and my tears are cold.  I do not believe no crime against humanity should be sent to this purgatory for so called “angels” of men decide where we go. Dying would be my best option, for I cannot bear the frost eating away my face, pride, and tears any longer.
Although, through the horror I’ve experienced, I have found myself a light. My guard, who comes for me every morning, afternoon, and night, is the only person who cares for me. I do not know why but I love him. I love him in such a strange way for no reason but his kindness. The love is more than a friendship, more than comrade, but yet, is too the point that instead of kissing him, I just want to be with him. I want to hold onto him for the sake of being alive, for the sake of escape, and he gives me hope whenever he confronts me.
I knew when I loved him on the first day upon my arrival. I was scared, feeble, to the edge of collapsing in fear that this place will pull my strings to make me dance for its entertainment until I give upon which it will just feast upon my defeat. It was the first time I experienced the cold, the unbearable cold that which I can only feel today. He came over to my cell furtively with a blanket, and was able to forage leftover food from the scraps of waste this place calls food. His laudable hands reached through the iron bars with these blessings by which he muttered his words of hope. I couldn’t bear to witness an act of great praise from another man, from which these crime gives my once immaculate pride of mine dead roses for compliments.
I am dead inside this purgatory, and I want to escape. The guardian angel of mine is the only thing I can see heaven has sent me yet I am surrounded by demonic lunatics, crazy devils, and haughty villains, all sent from the darkest corners of hell, by which laugh at my expense. I want to be dead, and this place knows it, and it sends the frost to slowly kill me bit by bit, for it feels only so much sympathy that it cannot reach through these bars so easily. This place is untouchable by nature, for there are no flowers, no animals, and no signs of life. The only sign of life comes from the blood that runs through my cracked frail skin down to my hands for the frost can only penetrate so much.
The guard is the only person I trust, these demonstrative feelings of death and melancholy that I am surrounded by yet I must keep locked up is only visible by him, and his sympathy for me only strengthens it. My love for him is the only thing alive in my beating heart, for if it wasn’t for this love, I would become carrion waiting to be feasted on by the vultures of time. Today, my prayer has been answered, for the guard brings me news of my release. When he opens up the gate, I run to his aid to hug him, for I needed to say thank you to someone. I hold him tightly, because he is my savior, the messenger who will get me out of purgatory. With the hug, I show him my gratitude, and with a tear, I show him my love. The coldness is no longer here, for it cannot harm me no longer. My love is too strong for any succubus to taint and seduce. I see the light outside, which shines bright, and my escape is calling out. It is waiting for me, being tied to a stand and taking the shape of a rope. I am ready to leave purgatory.