Deaf, Dumb and Blind. That's me. Now a little more literal than before, but it ain't like I haven't been playing that trifecta all my life. I never learned to listen, never learned to think things through, and never learned to see past the rush of sex, scams or X, take your pick. I've let my dick be my conscience for so long, it's amazing I've made it this far. I may've been nimble at staying alive, but even a cat's only got nine lives. It just seems my times 'bout up. And that don't bother me as much as it should. Death can't be worse than this.
So I'm lying here after I let Howell take me down. I'd hoped maybe she'd do the state a favor and just end it then. Because I could feel you all around me while you remained oppressive in your absence. And being so close to you but thinking I would never see you again was worse than a nightstick to my head, a needle in my arm or a jolt of electricity coursing through my veins. Or even the fires of hell.
It's funny, when I got off the bus, back at Oz, it felt like coming home. Home. Ain't that a bitch. Home inside this cesspool. But I knew you were still here. And the chance to see you again, maybe touch you again burned through me more sweet than any drug I'd ever done. But what I'd get instead for wishing on that star? Protective custody and Agent Sparky on my ass. Not to mention fucking Claire Howell. She was a way to pass the time and I'd thought maybe if I gave her what she wanted, I might get what I needed. You.
So I stuck my dick in that black hole she calls a cunt. And it wasn't *fucking* her that was hard. It was not breaking her goddamn neck every time she ran that nightstick across the bars. It would have been so easy, my hands on her head, a twist of the wrists, and she'd drop to the floor like the sack of shit she is. Course, then I'd already be lounging on death row waiting for the State to fry my ass instead of lying here waiting for the same goddamn thing. I'm in an endless loop of irony or so it seems.
Course nothing was more ironic than Vern playing our own personal Mr. Postman. I don't know what you did to make that happen and I don't think I want to know. You did what you had to do and I'm grateful. But words, even your words on paper ain't ever gonna be enough. Not when you are just on the other side of the wall. It just made the frustration that much more palpable. It burned and ripped through me more cruelly than a bullet, more severe than a shank ever could. It was the ultimate cocktease.
Just like Katherine was.
I could smell you on her, and it made me so damn hard. And when she left, your smell hung in the air like some unholy specter, there to taunt and comfort me at the same time. I tried to touch her, to brush up against her every time she walked into my cell. But not to outplay you… Those games are over. But to bring my scent back to you. Christ, I almost wish you had fucked her before she gave me the big kiss off. That way the smell of your come would have burned my nostrils and seeped into the cold, hard concrete walls of my would be tomb because she sentenced me to death that day. And she knew it.
She just didn't care. But what she don't know and what she could never understand was that it wasn't the certainty of the guilty verdict that overwhelmed me. It was the loss of the last link to you that crushed my spirit.
It's funny. She was so self righteous. So smug. Like she'd won. And maybe she did, I don't know. What I do know now, is she never had *you*. And she never will. Katherine don't know you, not like I do. And she don't love you. Not the real you. That other Tobias, he don't exist no more. He died the moment you chose to fight back. And thank god for it cause one way or another, on the outside or in here, he'd have killed you.
But just like you'll always be a drunk and a junkie, you're gonna take Oz with you wherever you go. Sure you might not drink or snort tits no more, but you ain't never gonna out run that urge. It's who you are. You're an animal. You're a monster. Just like me. And all it will take is a jab to the right nerve, and that beast will show its face. Cause deep down your soul is burned as black as mine. Oz is imprinted on you more permanent then that swastika on your ass. You might be better able to whitewash it and make yourself forget than the rest of us. And Christ, a part of me hopes you do.
But it's there, and one day that paints gonna chip and peel away and it will leave you raw and exposed. And Katherine and her kind will run away in fear. But me, thinking about you like that, it just makes my dick hard. Fuck, even when you turned that primal rage on me, it just made me want you even more. Only a monster can love a monster.
And I do love you. That's ironic too. I always thought that love was supposed to make you happy. But it don't. It can't and it never will. Nothing has ever hurt more. But the pain has its own kind of sweetness. And there's comfort in the fact that the torture, it ain't never going away. Ever. And I don't ever want it to. It's what lets me know I'm still alive.
Who knows, maybe, just maybe I've still got a few more nimble moves left. And with each breath I take, there's still the glimmer of the chance that I'll see you once more.
You see, I ain't asking for a stay of execution, just a temporary reprieve. You are everywhere. Everywhere, but here. So I pray Toby, I pray you do what you gotta do to get to me.
I ain't afraid to die no more, but please don't let me die alone.