Captive, I press against the bars –
In agony of imprisonment.
But, just as often, giving up;
Huddling against the far wall,
Ignoring the tray of rations shoved timidly into my cell.
They are stale bread and watery soup, I tell myself.
I tell myself everything;
Sobbing, always sobbing.
The world outside, super-bright; the
Unreal reality; the
Too much to bear
Arena of sensation.
And so I stay,
Telling myself (again) and the few passersby
I want escape.
Crawling desperately back to its stinking familiarity
To stand again at the bars
In comforting darkness
And only give audience to fellow prisoners
Echoing my lies.