A misty sunlight pours through the
Slit of a window in the cage of the wall
I peer, from my bedside, the two dimensional people
With their depthless smiles and flimsy fears
Their thin, feeble dreams on those thin, shabby streets
As they flutter through their slender illusionist worlds
I long for an escape from this monotonous small town, so
I can spill my valued ink and mark this paper world
But, regretfully, I stay, sitting uncomfortable here
Itching to leave my seat at this bedside table
As the city skyline is a paper room, shrinking
Its paper walls closing in on me, barricading my creativity
So threatening they seem for I
Am extremely claustrophobic.