With the sweet melancholy of time
comes the beautiful notion of nostalgia.
We grasp moments of shared joy and freedom-
beacons of hope that forever altered our souls.
And with such recollection
we finally fathom the value of those around us.
And we realize
it is our souls who must surrender
when our bodies are broken and worn.

This self-imposed darkness I have put in place
Runs like wildly tumbling water in my veins
Expressing itself as I release in words from each pore
All of my self-imposed pain

This proud isolation that I hold myself captive within
Contains no flowers to brighten its view
Only my infatuation with this sentence I’ve imposed
On myself and these chains I wear too

In fleeting expressions of freedom to be found
I stare longingly at a windowless door
Then tremble in fear and confusion at the mere thought
Of even walking across the floor

My idealized image of how my life should be
Holds me captive here in my own war
I am the only one who can release me from this space
Untie myself and walk out my windowless door