Four Walls

My world exists within four walls painted light brown. The only journey I ever go on nowadays is the steady trudge towards insanity.
I know I'm going mad. But I don't care. There's a huge part of me that sees it as a blessed relief. You only have to look outside or read a newspaper to see why. I reckon I've got a long way to go to be as utterly mental as the world's gone anyway.
You won't catch me going out there. It's fucking bonkers; dangerous, as well.
But I've reached a point in my life where I'm just as dangerous. I've spent my life being battered and abused, and I've reached the tipping point now. If somebody tried to force me to go outside, or somebody tried to get inside my home when I don't want them to, I would stab them in the throat with a steak-knife.
I would point out, though, that I would never harm any of the healthcare professionals who do a great job of taking care of me. I hate people who attack ambulance or fire crews, or doctors or nurses. These people are there to help us; I reckon anybody who hurts one of them should be fucking hanged. I'd gladly put the rope round their neck and pull the lever.
I think I'd better bring this to an end for today now. I'm just getting more hostile, so it's best I get myself off to bed; try to have a half-decent night's sleep.