Barracks

As the jets fly overhead,
I stare at the dry wall and wait for the next day to arrive.
A self assigned prison, isolation in exchange for love.
This is a temporary struggle, yet the end seems so far away.
Another jet passes
Idle hands become the devils playthings.
I occupy my time with gluttony and hedonism, for I have expended all other viable options.
I could paint the walls with my own vomit, to pass the time and control my lingering hunger
But I refrain for they are not my own.
Another hour passes.
Then two.
I have not moved from the bed that I've chained myself to.
A fire bubbles in my belly that I can only expel through sound.
I foam at the mouth for a taste of fresh air.
My eyes crusted from the flourescent beams that loom over me.
I hear another jet.