My life:
Padded room.
Sans windows,
Complete with locked steel doors.
Escape is impossible;
So I remain.
Scribbling poems on white walls,
With the only medium I have:
My very blood.
Mimicry of Uncle Iroh,
In outlets of Philosophy,
Poetry,
Or exercise.
This hidden space.
Alone forever.
Mad,
They say.
Mad, They Say.
