Dear Abriella,

The City Below is noisy tonight, as I sit outside above it, listening. I look down upon the city like a God, yet I am treated like I am a Samael. If they think so low of me, why do they insist on putting me up so high? Maybe they believe my silent screams of innocence and loud pleadings of “I didnt do it”.

These thoughts cloud my head now as the wind, quick and steady, breaths its strength against my body. My body that aches to run with it.

Your body aches for many things in here (and from many things), but mostly it aches for sex, freedom, love, desire, and hope. All of which run sparse.

The only thing here that comforts me are the stars. I can relate to their pain of being trapped in the same spot for eternity, though I am frequently mocked by the freedom of the shooting stars.

Just when I think I am lost in the maze of stars, the sight of the chain link fence brings me back to reality. And again, I am forced back inside. Left, right, left. One by one.

-Breckin