I peer through the bars of this self imposed prison. The bars look, vaguely, like windows. I spend my days inside the cell waiting for my freedom. As if a warden would suddenly appear and grant me the life I used to have.
A life lived free, free of fret and looming fear. A life that used to mean something, if not to anyone else, to me. Perhaps locking myself inside this cell was to protect me from the anguish this world has poured on me. Maybe in some ways I like this place.
Want to join the conversation? Sign in to leave a comment.