THE CELL by The Sir Shags

Since the day I was born, I've been locked in a cage. Or at least it seems that way.

Although these four, rotten walls dominate me, I can always look forward to the fleeting escape of a long nap. Sometimes sleep comes, but never easily. Once it finally does, it's gone too soon. And when I've awoken, there is that sweet, blissful moment before I recall my own wretched condition. That precious tenth of a second is shattered when I roll over and finger the jagged brick edifice of my cell's wall. I scratch in another meaningless tally mark denoting one more planetary rotation, a ritual which long ago ceased to matter. And then I just face the day, because that's all I can do.