Shouting at the Explicit Sky

I have to write my way out of this to claw my way up with words strung together as knots on a rope out of this dark box inside my soul which I have crawled into. Even though it is warm there I feel I am sat hunched on an uncomfortable wooden chair with screws and nails digging into me as my own perverse version of an execution chair. I need to lift my head high up to see out of this dark place and find my way back to you. Resolute against the darkness the shadows that haunt my tortured pose. I have been left alone too long and begin shouting at the explicit sky.