Another day of hell
pretending that I care
how much I'd miss this cell
if suddenly it fell
because it couldn't bear
another day of hell.
I found a piece of shell
to scratch the walls and share
how much I loathe this cell
my etchings barely tell
how poorly one will fare;
another day of hell
of things not going well
just makes me more aware
how much I spurn this cell,
but then I can't dispel
this desperate urge for air—
another day of hell?
Oh, how I'll miss this cell.
Are You Reading Me?
No comments:
Post a Comment