Frozen.
Frozen, and yet I am still moving.
Moving at 100 miles per hour,
And yet my body is entirely
Static.
My eyes fixed forward,
Unmoving, unblinking,
Watering from the thoughts
Racing and pacing
In my mind.
Frantic,
All of the panic
Going to my throat.
My breathing constricted,
My lungs restricted.
Is this the proper way to cope?
Breathe in.
Hold.
Breathe out.
Hold.
Just do as you are told
And breathe.
Breathing would be easier
If it did not cause so much pain.
Just another reminder
That my mind may be
A gilded cage,
But it is still a chain.
I can't escape.
I am just an echo in a cage.

There is a melody in the
Ripping, splitting, snipping
Of my words on the page.

Constantly vying, trying
To convey the way I feel
Inside the cage.

Breathe slow
Don't let go
Hold it in so you don't break.

Swallow that bile down
Don't let the thoughts win now
Rebel against the cage.

This is not weak
Move past this peak
Keep the word ***** on this page.

Break the cycle
Break the chain
Your strength within will reign
Over the thoughts in your mind.

And the only thing bleeding
Will be the ink on this page.
The cycle must not start again
Rebel against the pain.

When the raging tempest within my heart calms and the tides return my peace of mind, may my love forgive my transgressions.
For I have hated and lied, but worst of all, I have loved.
A consuming morbid type of love that leaves scars and extinguishes the very essence of my being.
It was a love that could bring down empires to a crumble and rot.
The type of love that causes unconditional and mindless bliss, a love so potent that I didn't see the insidious poison it carried within.
May the salve of time heal my broken mind and **** the viper that dared to live, or my love, may I just return to the waves from which I lived.
Within the riptide may I end the cycle of deceit and find solace in the storms eye.

I have always wondered what is the purest form of love.
Whether it is the poet's unrequited love in their ballads or the artist's muse who lingers from afar.
Or is it the voice that laments things that could never be?
What has become my truth, which was once my ruination, is that the purest form of love is the illusion of importance in their life.
For my value is but a grain of salt, but you, my dear, were once the vast ocean, now run dry.
My perfect ruin was my own mind.
How poetic.

Born to be brilliant but molded to be subservient.
Oh, glassmith, grant me just one respite from your toneless teachings.
My temperament may be ever-changing, but I deplore the mold you meticulously sculpted.
Oh, glassmith, I implore you to reshape the inferno you cast.
What was the point?
All of those years of hiding, silence, and hate. All of those years of trial by fire and words of ice.
Was all of this in the name of transformation? Well, congrats, you did more than change me. You broke me.
Oh friend, teacher, mother, glassmith, father, executioner, are you happy now?
Have you finally found peace in knowing you have broken my spirit and mind in the process?
Most would think the story would be over, but the pieces are broken not gone.
You still go on living, fractured and tarnished, longing to be whole.
What people don't tend to see is the dust collecting on my face, dust standing still, year after year.
Not being able to move or imagine picking up the pieces of myself that are long lost.
And yet I hope.
I hope that someday I can find the strength in me to outline the broken with the gold hidden within me.
The hope to embrace my flaws and scars.
But until then, I will continue to hope and dream of my imperfect peace.
Oh, spirit, I loved you.

My mercy may prevail over my wrath
But my humility fails to conquer my pride.
With patience, may my heart be kind and my mind heal over time.
Yet as more time passes and the betrayal of my friends remain engraved,
My trust begins to dwindle and, darling, you are to blame.