Broken Nails

The cell was 8 ft wide, and was colder than Alaskan nights.
I had been taken, kidnapped, engulfed by a worsening plight. Scared beyond measure, I still refused not to fight.
For even if I died, at least I could say I tried & my life would not be in vain, in the event of my demise.

So for years I grew and grew my nails,
grew them to the length of lizard tails.
As part of my plan to prevail, I stabbed a man until he fell.
Then I got down on my knees, and picked his pocket of his keys. Unlocked my cell and I was free. Or at least that's what I thought it to be.

But I could be no wronger, left to be no longer, I was in hell, buried underground. Thrown away, left to die, never to be found. Bound by walls of compact dirt, where screams simply cant be heard. I grew hopeless at the mans dying words and started to panic but then it occurred.

So I mapped and calculated the perfect decision, my nails would make the perfect incision. So I dug and I slashed and I scratched at the walls, till the foundation weakened and dirt began to fall. Until I saw a beam of light and something in me did ignite.

So I dug, slashed and scratched faster and faster, until I was standing in a filled full of aster. I looked at my hands all bloody and dirty, strength grew where pain was to hurt me. And I kissed each one of my broken nails for they were the tool I used to escape hell.