I am lost.
That which once filled my heart with joy and pleasure now have the taste of apples long past their prime. I have fallen into habits, the jail of freedom. I am in order and I fear for my sanity. I clutch desperately at freedom only to grasp the air around my mundane grave. The grand institution has sapped me of my creativity, will, and self.
I run through the corridor, lungs burning with every step, seeking the light only to find the darkness of another corridor. How long must I trudge? How far must I go before I can find myself in the light of my own being?
The walls begin to speak. They tell me I am doing so well in this corridor I should go on to a bigger and better one. More room. More lights. More ways to go. I keep going, trying not to listen. They tell me it's in my best interests. They say I'll be a better runner. I force their thoughts away.
My hope shakes. It fears the next corridor. What if it never ends? What if it keeps getting longer and longer until one day I s