My Body is A Prison.

My body is a prison.  
Pale, blemished wallpaper.  
Muscle insulating cold.  
Bones trapping
The assembly
Of organs.  
 
My body is a prison.  
My heart pounding  
For release.  
Lungs expanding  
To break free
Yet, they are too weak.  
 
My body is a prison.  
My soul looming  
Within.  
A self sustaining  
Corridor with  
Windows exploiting  
Corruption.  
 
My body is a prison.  
The echos  
Told me so.  
The irony is  
The only rule:  
I cannot free myself.