• There it is again. The same unfamiliar ceiling sits there staring me in the face whenever I wake up in this hell hole. I can never get up because of the aches in my body. The foundation is slowly falling apart with every breath I take. I feel almost nothing but anguish in this room. There is no way out of these walls that prevent me from seeing the colors. But do I really want to leave this place if I had a chance? It is very different from everything else I have ever seen. Nothing compares to what this place has to offer. It has a unique quality and is shrouded in wonder. The ceiling, though it is worn from years of aging, is just another one of those things that makes a person wonder just how long it will take to count all of the cracks. Will it take my whole lifetime? Should I give up because there are just too many? No. Not me. I have wondered for far too long. I just want to think about the many mysteries that disguise it. Not one second goes by where I don’t think about whether or not I should find a way to get out of here. Do I even want to escape? Everybody and everything I know is already gone. There is nothing left to think about other than myself. But this room gives me a sense of comfort as well. It is as if I was meant to be here. The light barely penetrates through the curtains of the window which are kept shut because I cannot stand the sun in my eyes. Besides the slight glimmer of light, there is no color to be seen. That is why I just lie here in pain, staring at the same ceiling wondering how many cracks are in it. I have somewhat come to adore this place for holding up just about as well as myself. After the longest time of wondering, I start to count the cracks after so much time of wondering. 1…2…3… There are so many to count that I don’t even care anymore. I continue to count not knowing if I will ever stop. This is the only way to kill the anguish and pain. This is the only way to get rid of all of the suffering. This is the only thing that soothes my frail mind and gives me hope. 4…5…6… This is what it is like to live in a place where all I can think about is what it is like to be different. I just don’t want it anymore. Nothing can stop me from counting the cracks on this unfamiliar ceiling. Seconds go by, minutes, hours. Every breath taken is just another second from goodbye. Even though I grow tired and weary, I still count as my eyes close. I am slowly being dragged into my own world of nothingness, still counting. As I drift into sweet slumber I continue to count the endless cracks on the ceiling, never to see light again.