The clocks struck thirteen

Yet still no sleep
Yet still the wall
My fingertips graze.

They can beat and torture
But they cannot get at my beliefs.

The clocks struck twenty-six
They put me in a box
Only to curl in
No movement allowed

They can beat and torture
But they cannot get at my beliefs.

The clocks struck thirty-nine
They pulled me out of the box
They put me on Ensure and water
Hunger gnaws.

They can beat and torture
When is this going to end?

Another day, the clocks struck one-six-nine
This time I have been sitting in this weird position
Back at a 45 degree angle, legs out straight
Needless to say it’s stressing me out.

A warm smile, a cigarette, a sip of vodka.

The clocks strike thirteen yet again
But this time
I am ready to help.