CELLS

When did we decide that this was a good idea, living like bees in little stacked cells? Boxes piled on top of each other, all basically the same but you get to choose the colour. You do at least get to choose that.

At what point did we give up, stable our exhausted horses and spend our days embroidering memories of the ambitions that once drove us? Reducing our lives to pretty canvases we can hang on our walls.

How long have you been trying to tell me you're dying to break out? Heave something heavy through your glass and let the dark rushing air bind with the red of your blood.

Now here we are, lying on the floor and gnawing our fingernails with clicking teeth. A faint blue light filters up round the edges of the floorboards. Listen! There are people down there. Something is going on.