Trapped

How do you find freedom when your skin has started to feel like a prison? Steel bars bend more easily than the tearing of skin. My jail travels with me wherever I go.

What has come of the life I once knew, once sought? Where are my dreams? Even my mind is shackled, and the walls have pressed in past my skin. I have no time for grand dreams, hopes, when each day is a victory. Formerly, I dreamed of shining with the stars, with the fireflies. Now what am I? What do I have?

Feebleness. Malaise. Frailty.

Enemies once unseen have ruined me. How do you fight what you cannot see? What you cannot hurt?

I want to run. I don’t know to where. I’m not even sure why. But I want to run far from here, from everywhere, far from people and their lies, far from society, far from the illusions and treachery and trickery. Far from myself. Even if I could escape everyone and everything else, I can’t get far enough away from me. From the me that isn’t, that does not exist, yet has managed to steal my body, my mind, my hopes, my dreams.

Bolts of futility shatter upon me. Of nihilism. Of despair.

They break on my mind, but they cannot touch my spirit. In that last bastion and sanctuary, an ember of hope. Awaken sleepy ember. The fire calls to you. Answer with flame.

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