My life is still a dreary mush of days that run into eachother. I don't sleep so the days have no distinction. Memories of my family are blurred until they are like a carnival ink drawing that fell into the river.
From where I lay in my cell the hands move counter-clockwise Sealing the space they have for creation as I swirl between them in a constant spiral of half dreams.
Powered by the gears of destruction I am merely a measure. As other hands weakly grasp the translucent rays of grey chaos this world has come to, I finally weep.
They say it's almost time for me to leave the horrid place, but they said that 4 years ago.
I wish ferverntly for death. but it will never come.
Your love is precious. I think of all the times I lay in it not appreciating it. I shudder at my stupidity.