I'm chained to this system,
To these rules and regulations,
A constant spiral of the same sights,
Forced artificial happiness,
Recycled reinvented pleasures.

These comforts can only numb the aches,
Until dark skies and cold weather,
Expose my wounds to the wind.

Lack of materials, lack of all,
Keep me trapped in dizzy frustrations,
Fantasising new sensations and places,
Knowing the happy, coloured blurs will sharpen their lens,
And reveal their familiar, colourless forms.

Sitting on my fixed space of land,
Still rooting for the next month to win me over,
For the next week to triumph against the last,
I tug at my tired chains,
Hoping to God there's that there more than this.