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.