I am squeezed in tight, knees to my chest, elbows tucked in.
Yesterday, I couldn't breath in here.
Today, breathing comes a little easier.
I stretch one arm up, feeling frantically for his grip.
He whispers, I listen, still.
I sit frozen, still half in my cage.
I do. I do want to get well.
"Get up! Pick up your mat and walk." He says.
What is your cage made of? Consider asking him to help you out. Do you want to get well?