time to escape.
it's a sign that you're in the wrong place
when masochistic walls
begin to move in on you,
encroaching on space that's your own
and sprouting barbs to match the count
for each day you remain
where you aren't supposed to be.
suffocating into the ordinary
whittled down to shreds
of a former self,
stripped of all that's genuine,
crudely molded into what
they've designed for you --
a shell not conducive to adaptation,
no room to grow,
stained with stale expectation.
time to escape
the box --
the only thing
holding you in.