Take me back to the time when the only concerns of mine were cartoons and coloring pens. When I was not stuck behind this fence, trying to escape to a better place, trying to avoid the problems I face. Where the lights are darker; the nights are longer; and the sorrow is lighter. Where the pain is fading, and the scars are healing. Where I can finally breathe, again. Where I'm not at a dead end. Where I can look in the mirror and see beyond the bruised up picture. Where there is no reflection, no sight of agonizing perplexions, no sight of a face that is painted black. Borrowed but never given back, this heart is not mine. Those eyes are not mine. I see the present but am stuck in the past. I get drunk on the toxins racing just as fast as the memories holding me back in chains. I get high on the thoughts smoked up in my brain. I struggle to stay alive outside of myself. This body has become a prison by itself. Living inside the walls of this cell has made my vision too foggy, my hands too ******, my will too sloppy, my days too rocky, my mind too cloudy; to act sane, to try and maintain, the fake play staged for the fools who will laugh and point fingers at you as soon as you leave the room. You are a freak show; at you, money they throw; betting how much more you'll last until all things holding you together collapse, until you become a forgotten story of the past.