I sit and watch
as the stain slowly seeps
into the fibers of our white carpet

You stand and watch
as the stain of red
deepens on the hand print on my cheek

The silence in the house
grows heavy
with the stillness
of the moment

Waiting on the edge of patience
to see
who will explode first

But the silence
will be disappointed
to know that this time
will be different

You stare in shock
at the outcome of your actions
but I wait no longer to reply

I slip off the shackle
of metal and rock
and place it carefully on the table

And leave my seat
unoccupied
for today
tomorrow
and the day after that

I head for the door
ignoring your please
and calls
that you'll change

It's over
I'm done
I'm never coming back

I run, they chase.
Genetically modifying the master race. We are trapped, for it will always know your face.
Anytime and any place.
****** recognition in your private space. Never overlook a clue and never leave a  trace.
For they will charge you with a premeditated sentence.
Can we comprehend this as our fate, while others are being hurdled through these prison gates.
Everyone can run but we'll never be hidden.
This kind of knowledge is completely forbidden.
We are the enemy as ponds set in place. So I run, yet they chase.

O.K corrals and swaying lunch tray doors.
Bucking shoots made with thick concrete floors.
Overrun cow pens like stacked cubical dens.
Government controlled farms filled with pen pal friends.

Why do we hide ourselves
burrowed deep underground
into the confines
of our mind?

It’s like a prison
one that can be harsh
yet also soothing
almost like a spa

And you get so caught up
in the massages
that you forget
all of the beatings

And when it switches
you’re struck down
again and again
until you’re back at square one

And all of this back and forth
it’s taking its toll
wearing you down
until you can’t even think

Perhaps we should tear the prison down
and instead, build a house
a cozy place to call home
where there is no judgement
and you can finally be you

In light we see, the blemishes,
Give me darkness i insist,
Neath raven skies
The rhyming mind
Exists but never lives

The light at first diminished
Lost from sight,
I Squint to find,
Was the progeny of truth
Inside I bitterly denied

The light at first a glint
Of hope,
Now shimmering and bright
Existing neath
The raven sky
Now living as the mind

A girl in a snow globe, delights in her world,
she watches, enchanted, as the snow falls down,
it drifts and glides and swirls around
before finally landing upon the ground.
until one day she notices the glass,
and she understands (realizes)  the prison at last.

You said I may as well
Be in jail
Because I spend
So long in my room.

I didn't go outside today
You said at least
Prisoners go outside
For fresh air once
A day.

Well sure,
I'll be a prisoner,
If you'd like.
I practically am.

This house is a prison
I'm monitored
Asked to work
Do this
Do that
If the things I do
Are "nothing" to you
Or not up to your standard
Of being worthy
Then I'm punished.

My room is my cell
It's my space
I've personalized it
I've made it mine
It feels safe
It's my choice
To spend time here.

But you still barge in
Even when the door's closed
You still demand things
You judge how I've made it
The way things look
The state its in
My own touches.
You prove it's not mine
By violating it.

Sure,
I could go outside.
But that's only
A larger
More diverse prison
Where I'm judged further
By the guards of society
I have to be alert
So I'm not abused
Or harassed
By fellow inmates.

Thanks for the metaphor,
Mother
But it doesn't matter.

I'm content
Being confined
In my cell.

l.v.s

i tried to ignore it
this pull at my chest
like i'd taken my own
emotions as captives
in the bars between my
arteries
but you can't keep
running horses prisoner
and i feel the bars
loosen as it calls
out for home and
memories it craves
a new beginning
but in the same
place and i think
it's time i pack
my bags and return to
the old to start
anew
because this life,
no matter how hard you
try
you cannot out run it
you will run circles
and circles
in the same old fields
with the same
old feelings
until you realize
nothing
and everything
has changed.

There's nothing wrong
With focusing
On other things.

In fact,
It's a good thing.

I don't want
To become your life,
I want
To be a part of it.

I love talking to you
but do what needs
to be done first
and don't be afraid
to do other things you enjoy.

I wouldn't want
To feel like
A prison sentence.

l.v.s