Trapped and Tired

Ruffled, recycled pages caught
on hooked and torn nails
as attempts to try
self-education
drastically
failed.

The newspaper was always full
of meaningless bits of information,
wherein I could find odd typos,
and laugh at pointless articles.
I used to be able to point out
the faces of peers or passers-by,
or the men who sold us art and craft.

I used to think that familiarity
would make me feel more homely
and the loneliness would subside -
until I realised I wasn't unsettled,
nor was I lonely as I so thought,
but instead emotionless to any and all,
without any means of escaping prison -

                    I broke my key along with myself.

So now I remain huddled under the desk
or shunken in corners of rooms and beds,
tired, sleep having left me to battle alone,
and trapped with so many exits, so many options,
making it impossible for me to decide in my confusion.