drool

he lay broken because he must being so torn of flesh and mind how could he do else yet ponder the pitfalls of his twisted and muddled mind yet our Zea is struck with the difficulty of his lack his room stuffy and hot with not a small dose of irritating humidity and he screams how the hell am I supposed to get out of here but that does about nothing to calm the unrest they call his heart and somehow there is little else he can do in the confines of his self made sterile entrapment so he screams and screams as the chilly night blankets him in deceptive hope and the darkness feeds his growing panic which springs to frenzy as foreign hands pull tug refrain and finally inject then alas the pain is gone but his mind his thoughts and yes his fears depart in haste numbing his spirit and soul till there is nothing left but the drool