They kicked down my door at four AM.
I could hear my parents and sister shouting, the dogs barking.
Sour breath filled my nose as a German Shepherd snarled in my face.

They tore apart my room.
My hands were forced behind my back, bound so I couldn’t feel them.
I was so hysterical they stuck a sedative in my arm.

I woke up in a room with lights too bright.
The man in the suit screamed in my face, demanding answers.
I tried to tell him a million times it wasn’t me.

He left, and time passed.
A lady walked in, and said she’s my family’s lawyer.
She promised to get me out of this.

A few weeks later, I’m lead into a courtroom.
The grieving family spat in my face, screeched as tears stream down their faces.
Their grief was so deep and so dark they couldn't see the truth.

The jury came back, and sealed my fate.
My mom was wailing, but I could barely hear her over the sound of my own hyperventilating breaths.
They shoved me in the back of a car, and hours later, I emerged at the SuperMax.

My fingers tapped songs out on the wall.
I closed my eyes, and tried to pretend it’s all a bad dream.
Introvert I may be, but 23 hours of isolation every day is hell.

Six years and three failed appeals crawled by me.
My family came to visit as often as they could, always sadder each time.
Death started to seem like a good idea.

My lawyer came to see me.
I’d been in this hellhole for fourteen years.
She said they want to see me in court.

The sun warmed my too-pale skin.
Inside the courtroom, they admitted that I was telling the truth the whole time.
That they made a mistake.

My cuffs are removed, my jumpsuit tossed in a corner.
My record is wiped clean, the state promises compensation.
I attempt to drown myself in my family, I’ve missed them so much.

Therapy helps me find the will to keep going, even though my life has been ruined.
I still see Death in the corner of my eye, and there are days when it feels like the best option.
I fear nothing, for my greatest fear has been my hell of a reality for fourteen years.