"All the towers of ivery are crumbling"

It's raining here today. Those little drops of tears from heaven tap at my window pane. It's supposed to be Spring~ what happened to those days of flowers popping up from the carrion filled hollowed ground?

I have been spending my days and nights thinking about all that is hopeful. Perhaps its the new meds doc has me on. Perhaps I have given up trying to figure out what my future holds.

I watch as my cement walls continue to fuse together, tighter~ I think they're trying to squeeze me out. Everyday at 0930 I walk heel to toe around the perimeter of my cubical which has always been ten by eight feet. But for the last week I have discovered that it has shrunken by almost an inch. I took off my pasty white, lace less loafers to be certain. I typically do this to double check my math. There is a half inch difference due to the manufactured rubber sole. But this can also be problematic, because I have in the past let my toe nails grow for months and months so they become pressed against the inside of my shoes. Though they have been slowly curving to accommodate the tight fit.

Regardless~ I scribble all my wavy measurements on the wall with a nub of charcoal I snuck from art class.

In solitary the cubicles are much smaller. seven by five. It's like sleeping in a mausoleum, cold, damp, no windows, no bed, just a soiled stained mattress. There used to be a pillow when I first was placed in there. But I think Henri used it to kill himself after only a week. So now we're left with nothing.

A week, how funny that a big pussy like him couldn't handle it. He was in for filleting his wife and kid. Copping insanity. You think someone who had enough patience to do that and withstand the site of so much blood and carnage could hack it. He only made it through six months before he decided to stab Clarence in the throat with a chicken leg bone he smuggled out of the cafeteria.

Or was it a toothbrush- sometimes these little slices of memory just meld.