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I step outside my house, the brick walls towering over me. A gateway into my world, a prison of my own design. The archway all adorned with dust and cobwebs. Cracks forming in the foundation, the pavement overgrown with weeds. Would that I could escape from my cell for more than a few minutes a day. The world outside so cold and unforgiving makes me want to hide inside. Inside is only me, no one to hear me complain about what I wish I had. Nobody here to listen when I have something important to say. Maybe it is better this way, nobody really wants to hear complaints. What may seem important to me may be little more than a nuisance to others. When the only sound you hear is your own voice, you lose perspective on what is real. Fragmented thoughts that amount to naught but a poem without a cause. Speaking aloud only in the hopes that joy will come once again. Lost in the mire of loneliness, wanting only to escape.