Neurotic Asylum

I am cooped up inside this wall with no air left to breathe;
I sit in the corner... cry, sleep, eat, feed, and spread disease...
I try to solidify my anger that I vent into this world...
I find life an anarchy branch of non-existence. I stare out the cracks in the bricks, and all I see is the flooding truth that maybe, just maybe humanity is truly animality.
I never thought I was all alone until the sin was seeping from my skin, and it decayed a nothingless figment of my imagination.
When I had finally seen and when I actually felt more than seen that my imagination was rotting away upon the marble floors kept so clean, I screamed. I raged against those walls. When I slammed my power upon such incubational barriers, I realized that I couldn't be free.
Is this all just some explication of stating my neurotic-self of binary compounds that are overbearing prevarications?
Is it truth... is it faith? Are these walls that seem so strong and resistant let me escape the real thing that I must grab onto? My fingerprints glide along the marble for something to grab onto; to claim as my knowledge and intelligence.
Maybe I'll just reconcile the whole dilemma so I can escape from the hell I was forced to smother in.

This poem isn't done yet. It shall be continued soon enough.