I might drown in the sweats of my own leisure.
It speaks to me, “Where have you been?
Why have you been working?”
It holds me down like a prisoner
Who most times wants to rot inside, or else run far, far away.

My jailer is the trappings of useless fountains.
And my inmate- a better version of myself.
The bars are selectively permeable.
They only let me out when I’m enlightened
And throw me back in at the slightest hint of bore.

I am a convict,
because I am human.