I lay here on my bed forgotten but not yet dead
with my room built of trash from alcohol bottles and cigarette packs I have stacked
my room is dark and secure but not from all I fear
I try to escape through my head but my subconscious is tied with me to this bed
so I find relief through the blood I have bleed as bits of me have left
but remnants of my past just keep coming back
so my pain still remains with me through out each and every day
as does my wish to be free from this cage
so I continue to count the days
from when I last saw the world outside this crack
only if I could have an ounce of freedom
I might be able to put an end to the past