The moonlight leads to boredom.
I can see the beam peek its head through my window over my wilted birthday flowers, four days past prime.
In my cinder-blocked cell, as the night creeps into morning, I wonder: What the hell am I still doing here?
The moonlight leads to boredom.
I can see the beam peek its head through my window over my wilted birthday flowers, four days past prime.
In my cinder-blocked cell, as the night creeps into morning, I wonder: What the hell am I still doing here?