This place is not a home; It is merely a house
In which my lions’ heart has the voice of a small mouse
This isn’t four walls, a warm bed, and a fireplace
It’s cold chains that bind me and bitterly laugh in my face
I could leave a home, though I wouldn’t want to
But I’m trapped in this house, with no doors to walk through
There’s a single window, but it’s too high
And, though I can’t reach it, I jump and I try
My fingers skim the ledge, but I can’t get a grip
And as I fall, I see my freedom slip
Aug 1, 2019
Aug 1, 2019 at 10:47 PM UTC
This place is not a home; It is merely a house
In which my lions’ heart has the voice of a small mouse
This isn’t four walls, a warm bed, and a fireplace
It’s cold chains that bind me and bitterly laugh in my face
I could leave a home, though I wouldn’t want to
But I’m trapped in this house, with no doors to walk through
There’s a single window, but it’s too high
And, though I can’t reach it, I jump and I try
My fingers skim the ledge, but I can’t get a grip
And as I fall, I see my freedom slip
Brought to you by another anxiety attack