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Mar 2017
Trapped inside a prison,
Of lack of things to do.
I’d rather shoot myself than live,
In walls of painted blue.
A dartboard on the wall,
A bookshelf and a bed.
Yet I’ve done it all before,
I just wish my walls were red.
If I were somewhere else,
With the wind in my hair,
Would this boredom go away?
Or would I stick to my chair?
I blame the dullness on life,
But it doesn’t come from trees.
I scream at walls  to entertain,
While I watch my laughter freeze.
The Dybbuk
Written by
The Dybbuk
269
     --- and Johnny Scarlotti
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