We create our own prisons,
bars designed
from mistakes and regrets.
Time passes
from present to future.
Wind chimes
tinkle and twinkle,
and city lights
sparkle the moments away.
I sit in my cell
of my own volition
and pine for a freedom
I only remember
like a thin layer of dust
on a windowsill.
My chin on my elbow,
I watch from the house I built
to trap me in stasis,
in remedy without romance.
I walk and
talk and
do and
but is it living
when open air
feels like chains twisting gashes
around my throat?
When daily moments
of introspection
feel like panic attacks
laced with desire
so strong
it yanks me to the floor,
knees pulled up,
sobs wracking my nerve endings?
We build our own prisons
so why can’t we destruct them?
Why can’t we claw our way out?
Maybe I like the pain.
Knowing that this can’t be all
even as good as it is.
Maybe the echo of your voice
is all I need to free myself
from these iron bars
woven around my heart.


3 thoughts on “Prisons

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