how can my own home feel like jail?

the windows are always open but i
can see the bars that trap me inside
my own mind, hold my lungs tight
to stop me breathing,
there's always fresh air entering
but when it comes near me it becomes
rancid and putrid, choking me
and tearing me up but i will always
end up inhaling the matter or else
i won't survive

the rooms are filled with ornaments
from different countries,
little souvenirs that we were there
but even with the furniture
i feel secluded, my bed is not
only my resting place, but it
sobs as i rest my tired eyes,
hoping that even in this darkness
of my room, where i can hear the
shallow breaths fill the air,
perhaps the light that escapes
between these walls could
guide me and send me a halo

the clothes that hang solitary
waiting to be reached towards,
they only cover me from this
world that i live in,
these clothes do not liberate me
but they protect me from
anything worse than this jail
in which i know i shall rot
ever so slowly but until then
i shall pray that it won't be
due to my sadness or the fact
that i can't stop worrying and
stressing about the future

if only these walls, this jail,
stopped my mind from wandering
into a state of freedom,
aching to be heard,
screaming at whatever chance they have
but this voice will never escape
as i am made of steel,
my bones are my cage and
this body is half-alive

hold-me, could i dare to ask?
hold-me, in this jail as i
fall into deep sleep,
pray that i won't wake up
hold-me as i soften my breath,
i'd finally feel the rain
as it patters onto my face
but i'd look up and see no sky,
no clouds and no heaven