I sit; trapped in my door frame, bound with wet, paper shackles. Uncertainty glares through the open bars like moon beams in the stagnate night. The keys to my unlocked door are on a chain around my neck. Idle time only exacerbates my endless, fortuitous sentence. I ask myself what is freedom anyway? It's just another word for prison. The walls may be a different color, but it's incarceration nonetheless. When you are held prisoner in your own mind, freedom is just a matter of semantics. Escape is a futile dream when you have nowhere to run.