Ironically situated in the Ministry of Love, these dark, barren walls have rewritten the hope in my heart into verses of wishful demise. This heart is an icebox that has become numb to any whisper of faith. These tear ducts have forgotten the sense of sadness. I welcome the warmth of shackles pinching the skin of my feeble arms. The weeks of misery have culminated into this unspeakable agony. Welcome to Room 101.