Cloudy Days

I’m not sure which is worse, having my hair torn out everyday and markers drawing ‘makeup’ on my face, having a dog chew on my arm and a toddler chew on my leg.

I wake up and stare at the bland ceiling, not moving for a while. I don't know how long I was sitting there, there are no clocks in here. No clocks, no posters, no windows, save for the small, barred slit in the top of the wall.