Inside looking out

My gaze is forced skyward and starward, against my will, like a Rhesus monkey strapped in a cockpit, shitting it's diaper, holding a one-way ticket to Jupiter. The cubicle of my own mind forever preventing me from stepping out of this translucent box that reeks of stale urine and rot. Outside, I hear Fate knock and snicker as she twists the crank, excitedly waiting with baited breath for me to burst out and put on a show; (a silly, senseless show meant to fright and delight) a permanent grin sloppily painted on my face and a frigid spring buried deep up my ass tethering me to my self-imposed clink. However I fight, and I dig, seven inches a week, with my wooden spoon - and one day I pray I may scurry down the rabbit hole, pocket-watch in hand, to meet the Queen for crumpets and tea at last.