I lie here with no feeling, like a man who’s never lost his state of shock;

I am numb like no other- freefalling through the blackness that is space.

Still, I try to ignore space, the ultimate indicator of movement.

It is my fault that I am here, running away from the constraints and fears of time.

I imagine my walls, stone and slate and slab, mixed together with bitterness and purpose.

I knew what I was doing when I paved myself in this windowless prison that falls through

time.

I wanted to be encased in this bomb shelter, free of emotion, the very emotion that sent

me running

As I concreted my soul, I didn’t bother to think of getting out. Now it’s too late.

Time ticks away, but it’s all been one long day, ticking by so slowly; I got exactly what I

wanted.

I hate it in here. I hate the lack of heat and cold, the lack of penetrable surfaces.

My screams are blocked by the walls and when I cry, my tears fill the dark corners.

They struggle and scratch to get out, to be seen, to be heard, to be felt, but to no avail.

So I lie here, like a man with no country, completely indifferent to everything.

I didn’t know what I was doing when I trapped myself in this lonely sanctuary,

But now I lay here alone with the ticking clock, the one thing I tried to escape.

Time ticks by and so does the joy I can never experience; so does the sorrow that would

help me learn.

I’m like a bird that’s never touched the ground and never flown, stuck in permanent

limbo, caged in this prison,

And it’s all my fault.