I sit here, locked in a prison of my own making, chilled to the bone,
aching wildly to burst free, to shatter my chains, to end this solitude.
This prison, so solitary, so ultimately cold, this great jail to which I allude
is none other than the depths of my fears, my insecurities, killing me alone,
burying me in silence, torturing me with dreams of breaking free from this tomb of stone.
Now it is easy to say that all this is a construct, a bi-product of my attitude,
but few have ever seen the joys of living , scared, trapped in the multitude
of people, looking for a friendly face, someone willing to approach my curséd throne.
Now that I’ve laid out my prison, what can I do, where can I turn for solace?
Maybe one of you, on the outside of my prison cell, will be able to share,
because in here, the air is dead, the walls are damp, and there is no escape from me.
My emotions well up, coil and recoil, smolder in this amazing forge, this Olympian furnace
where my thoughts melt, and i stagger, looking for someone to stay, to help, to care.
And I’m still smoldering in my mind, looking out over a wasteland, as far as the eye can see.

02/11/2002

Posted on 02/11/2002
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