I've been in here a long time. When your in solitary time just ceases to exist. They sometimes slip food into the slot in the door. Its the only evidence that they haven't forgotten about me. They slip letters in sometimes. Letters from the families of my victims. They all have different writing, but they all contain the same message. They pray for my slow death so i can spend the rest of my eternity burning in Hell. They need to be patient. They call me a sociopath, a psychotic murderer, they call me these things and more. I always tape their letters to my wall. Lets me know they care. I was called The Grim Reaper. I was a killer. They think I planned out the murders. They think i carefully thought out and planned each killing. They think I have the attention span to premeditate my murders. It makes me all tingly inside.(I'll add more later...)1
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