I dwell alone here,
a prisoner within
my own mind and life,
encumbered in burdensome
shackles of my own invention,
locked restraints of self-delusion
to which solely I possess the keys.
To all of us who sell ourselves
short, who give up too soon,
who hide in self imposed prisons
of the mind.
Life is what we make of it and
thus perhaps what we deserve,
unless we endeavor to change it.
For a friend, he knows I mean well.