Heavy head.
Heavy hands.
Heavy heart.

Through my worries it slinks in.
My hopes are beaten
To a thick dry pulp in my heart.
Dully, I sit heavy heavy.

Movement is all impossible.
I am a marionette with cut strings.
Rough and tattered curls.
Ripped and torn dress.

Stoic, so so stoic, yet searching.
Where is the light that once was?
Alone in this mire, I shed my tears.
Secluded and rotting in self pity.

There are no maps, no decisions.
I am lost without guidance
In this game of life limbo.
I don't know when I'll leave.

This is my own prison.