Prisons

We all live in prisons of our own making.

Trying to blame others would be wasting.

I can say they forced me here,

They drove me to draw these lines.

But in the end, only I am responsible for my crimes.

Trapped in this cell of my own creation.

I cry out desperately for salvation.

I can say no one hears me scream,

No one cares enough to hear my call.

But in the end, only I soundproofed these walls.

Living within this prison of my own design.

A constant sensation of being just fine.

I can say I plead to get out,

I terribly wish to escape from here.

But in the end, only I am stopped by overwhelming fear.

Weak and fleeting,

These walls concealing.

Crafted to protect,

Made to deflect.

Isolation.

Devastation.

Adaptation.

They cling to my skin,

I gladly let them in.

The lines begin to blur,

Complacent in the murder.

Of my own heart,

It’s a good place to start.

The prison becomes me,

It’s easy to see.

I push everyone away,

Who gives me time of day.

A vain effort to protect my soul,

At least what’s left of that black hole.

Ignore that he who inflicts the wounds,

Is myself, completely consumed.

I am an extension of this prison I crafted for myself.

Ignore what’s left of my mental health.

I can say maybe there’s fleeting hope,

Maybe there’s someone out there to set me free.

But in the end, only I know deep down…that this…is me.