Three by three, I stopped after twelve.

How many more? How many more?

Yes, life is precious, but only to

Unborn infants,

Martyrs,

Victims.

Though I hate, I cannot escape.

I try.

I try again.

One time I will succeed.

Was I predestined to this life of pain,

Or am I just too terrible for normality?

Is God enjoying this sadistic pit in which I've fallen?

Or does He hear me at all?

I bang on the glass walls of my prison,

Through which I see life,

And cry out in despairing anguish,

"Save me! Take me from this bondage!"

Yet I am invisible from the outside,

I am unheard.

The air is being removed from my solitary chamber,

Droplet by droplet,

Am I really dying?

Oh to be free, to be seen, to be loved.

If the walls were broken down, I could love.

Is there not one strong enough?

Is this my eternity?