The man is beating himself up again in his head
It ain’t called self-harm but the brain-cells have bled
The man is in prison in his own home can’t leave
Crisis and trauma of fresh air is to breathe.
The man can’t escape can’t even open the door
There’s a world and a life that he needs to explore
It’s torture it’s cruel it’s a stare at the clock
He dreams then he screams it ‘I wanna go a walk!’
The man for some years now has been locked in his flat
The panic attacks on thinking on seeing his welcome mat
The man is in prison and there is no key
He hopes for improvement and when he’ll be free.