Will I ever be free?

I can't seem to grasp any joy
  No light or joy seeks through these walls
I do not laugh, life I do not enjoy
  There seems no end to this pit, only more halls.

I hate my life, and myself
  I screw things up in my life
I feel I am being used like a shelf
  Everything is intruded by a sharpness of a knife.

My dreams never stay, they always run away
  Depression or nightmares, day or night
Some ask how I am, I say I am doing ok
  But that's like script, all I do is recite.