When you live inside the hole,
your fingernails are short and your feet are flat.
The climb is only as high as you let your gaze rise.
The meager buckets of rations fill you until you wait for them.
No longer do you wait for Clarise.
You see his face that once brought you fear of captivity,
But now it only brings you utmost desire.
Your world is the hole and **** because you're limbs are sore and ripped.
When is the next time you see him again?