Daydream a moment.

Empty prison cell

I sat pressed up against the wall,
for the longest time.
All I wanted really was to feel the
breeze pass me by.
My fingertips accustomed to
the edge of the frame
Day in and day out, it was always
the same. Mundane.
The bleak and the dark and the menacing
taunt of hours and hours
become less dreadful when challenged
with imaginings of blue skies, road signs
and wild flowers.
The whistle sounds, and the daydream ends.
No more pretend.
Just cemented numbers and
barred women.
Outraged.
Hostile.

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