I am enclosed by walls of a crude justice.
Coarse walls, crooked and cautious.
Here I live, but I do not call it home.
A greater length, the stars roam
Compared to my little place and this place.
Sprawled across time is my debt that I did create.
Day-in and day-out I chip away,
And in response this place chips again
At my mind. Melting a little everyday.
My spirit splinters and my will sways.
They see my poor spirit, and only offer to take away.
this place hammers a chisel Into my head,
And now marred and bled
They claim that I have been sculpted into an “upstanding citizen!”
Despite the blood and scars all over my face.
But I continue to pay my debt in cold embrace
With my gaze firmly set upon my little place.