I face the wall solemnly,
Hoping to hinder the
Perpetual stream of humdrum afternoons.
Sunlight sidles through curtain cracks,
Only to be shredded by the dark,
Gloom-encrusted walls.

I am confined to my dreary room,
Deprived of liveliness,
Bound to insipid repetition.  
Time moves ever so quickly,
Yet my life is standing still.
Deadlocked in stalemate.

Though my senses function adequately,
My heart beats factitiously.  
How ironic it is to be alive,
But not to be living.

I yearn to possess merriment,
Yet I sit idly alone
As a component of a drab,
Recurring cycle.