Chapter 38 single room

single room He was born tall and big and stately Now very small and old There are no doors and windows, and the light bulb is the only light source He is content with room temperature Cursing loudly the unseen bad weather Bottles of hate lined up in the corner The cork is opened, I don't know who to drink with He hammered nails into the wall desperately let imaginary lame horses cross these obstacles Trampled by a slipper chasing bugs Ceilings, leaving ideal patterned imprints he longs for blood My own blood splashes like a ray of sunshine