Only fools would lock birds in a cage.
There they grow, and with them grows their rage.

In their eyes you can see the desire
to break free, to tear down the barbed wire,
and to launch at their captor, with claws—
sinking deep in his flesh all because—

—only fools would lock birds in a cage,
where they grow, and with them grows their rage.

I sing to my captor through the bars,
But all he does is mock me, mimic my song,
Trapped, ensnared, fortified.
I have not yet learned to fly
But I have not yet yearned to die:
There is still time to hope, to dream, to fail.
Time has allowed me to realise many a thing,
Like the key that I clasp and the lock that it fits
Just. Out. Of. Reach.
Time has allowed me to reflect,
Like the mirror that shows me my captor,
Previously a window, now a truth.
Just. Out. Of. Time.

I am stuck in a sticky state.
I’m a piece of gum,
thoroughly chewed.
By now, quite overused,
I've lost all taste.
My life has become an endless blur,
every day the same,
like an old song on repeat.
Overplayed,
I’m sick of it,
and have been for quite some time now.
I need change,
desperately,
achingly,
need it.
I can’t live like this anymore,
can’t live every day on repeat,
never changing my pattern,
never changing beat.
Nothing anymore makes me happy,
no food tastes as sweet
as it did before,
when my life was filled with open doors,
with opportunities,
change,
chances to rearrange,
to take on new adventures
every day.
But now, every day is a struggle,
always the same.
My depression has taken charge,
taken over what little control
I had left in my life.
It is my captor, and I its hostage,
locked up in its grasp, its chains,
until further notice.
I pray for the day
that it sets me free,
which is hopefully soon,
but probably never.
I’ll die before it lets me go,
yet I sometimes feel like death
would be better than feeling this low;
it would be release,
release from my endless days on repeat,
for which life just can’t seem to cease.
But for now I am stuck.
I am the gum you've been gnawing on for hours,
and you want so badly to spit me out,
but now just isn't the right time.
So you keep
chew
chew
chewing
that tasteless gum of mine,
wishing you could trade it out
for a piece with real flavor.
All I wish for
is a life with real meaning,
so that finally, again,
I can start feeling.
Until then,
I am numb,
much overchewed,
tired and used,
and feeling abused
by my own mind,
this cruel, cruel depression
that’s running my life,
and now I’m running out of time.