Here I am,
In this box.
The cowardice of silence
The fantasy of freedom,
A solace so dear.

The slumber of courage
Loud sounds of violent hatred
The suppression of one's voice,
An obituary to a marriage.

A soul dead yet alive,
Denouncing one's hurt.
The panel beating,
Of one's soul,
As right for payment.

Justification of bounds
Binding one never to speak
Bitterness and rage,
A strong medicine for pain.
The clock ticking,
Waiting for  my body's carriage.

Alive but dead
Killing one's embodiment of joy
Freedom,
Freedom,
I wait for you,
I long for you,
Yet you cometh not.