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Bekah Nov 1
My anxiety is a glass box
From which I watch the world
Pass me by,
A transparent barrier
That holds me prisoner
Day and night.
I see the laughter, joy, and pain,
Of truly living.
Things I long to experience,
But fear I never will.
I often wonder,
Is it still a prison
If the confines
Are the four walls
My mind created?
Bound
by Michael R. Burch, circa age 14-15

Now it is winter—the coldest night.
And as the light of the streetlamp casts strange shadows to the ground,
I have lost what I once found
in your arms.

Now it is winter—the coldest night.
And as the light of distant Venus fails to penetrate dark panes,
I have remade all my chains
and am bound.

Published as “Why Did I Go?” in my high school journal the Lantern in 1976. I have made slight changes here and there, but the poem is essentially the same as what I wrote in my early teens.
"Bound" is a poem I wrote around age 14 or 15.
Don't be a prisoner of your past
Like a fallen yellow leaf
With no song, no fire

Be like the enchanting nature
That celebrates life with
The new dawn, new sun rise
Birds melodies, blue skies
Smiling flowers, green grass
Fresh air, dancing butterflies
Twinkling stars
And evolving moon

Hussein Dekmak
Ryan Seth Cole Sep 2022
I am surrounded by comforts and convenances as I pack the cub-bards, lining them with provisions. Some of which I will not get to before they perish. I pay no mind to the clouds that gather above my head because I will soon walk into the shelter of my luxurious home.

I close the door sealing out the pestilence. the last part of my home barricaded by all the elements. I seat myself in a climate controlled throne where I waste away watching the regurgitation of one talking head to another. I stand at once to pour my cup out into the sink.

I look out the window and see a horizon of red illuminated by the smoke and fires that grow beneath it. I close the blinds and I make my way to the master bedroom. I take off my custom made clothes and fold them neatly at the foot of my bed. I brush my teeth and put on my pajamas as I hear a thunder in the distance grow closer . I turn on my fan to drown out the noise. I then lay myself down and nestle the silk of my pillow.

I begin to fall asleep not quite past Rapid eye movement. I am then ripped from my bed. I am drug down the stairs pulling banisters back resisting my pursuer’s. They’re strength to much to my own they quickly over power me.
My finger nails dig into the decking of my lavish hardwood sprawl. There is no hope for me at this point. I then am hit with a blunt object and loose consciousness.

I awake with a bag over my head and my hands tied behind my back. The dry air and exhaustion from my screams make my mouth dry. I feel insects crawl on me not as an infestation but as a hindering concentration on my hands and feet. I don’t know what they are but they bite me like fire ants.

I cannot shake them loose. Once I do my hands and feet are  bound down by my captors. They shout at me slurs and demand I renounce. They beat me with they’re fist and feet. They grab me up and drag me down a long hall. I am pushed to the floor and then picked up. My head is shoved down as they submerge me in water. Over and over and over again. I begin blacking out because my body is entering a breaking point.

I am then drug back down the hall and cast back into my dark room.
This continues for days as I am being starved. I begin eating the ants that bite my hands and feet. I drink the water I can when I am being dunked over and over again. I begin to try and adapt to this tormented routine. I am far past depression I am numb and I am hopeless.

I am so lonely I try conversing with my captors. They don’t speak in my language so I try to make myself believe what they say back to me are kind and hopeful things.
They demand that I renounce in my language. It is the only thing I understand the entirety of my stay. I sense the desperation in they’re tone they almost seem sad that I am not responding to they’re abuse. I fear they will soon grow tired of trying and end me as a result.

The next morning I awake with a cold blade on my neck. I shout out “I renounce! I begin crying and shouting out; I renounce!” They pick me up and break my bonds and sit me in a chair. One officer removes the bag over my head and I see for the first time in I don’t know how long. Another officer hands me a glass of water and my face falls in shame and relief.
This is the real beginning of my torment.

After giving me instructions and sending me on my way. I …..

To be continued…
Small series. Part 1
M Solav Apr 2022
I set myself a reminder
For all the times that I err
So that I may always remember
That I am but a prisoner

Delusions are my prison cell
And questions are the key
Yet the gates seem endless
On the corridor to reality.
Written on July 27th, 2019.


— Copyright © M. Solav —
www.msolav.com

This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact marsolav@outlook.com for usage requests. Thank you.
Tony Tweedy Apr 2022
If there were but some other place,
a place where shadows do not grow,
I would go to be there in that space,
where happier things I just might know.

Away from fear and hurt and pain,
and so many lonely, empty days.
Perhaps to see the sun's light again,
to feel a joy while my spirit plays.

If only just once more a time to see,
not how things are in my everyday,
but rather how things were meant to be,
before things decayed and went away.

Trapped in this unlit shadowed place,
of the loneliest and very darkest kind.
Forever lost am I, lost without a trace,
A prisoner of my own overactive mind.

There is no other place that I can go.
No other place to see...
there is no other place, I will ever know.
there's only me....
In the world outside I was a rich man’s son
Behind these bars I am still a rich man’s son
My crime is more serious
But my lawyers more expensive

My food comes from home
My bed sheets are fresher
My loo stinks lesser
Because my **** smells sweeter

What I miss is who I could have got
with a little more patience with a little more love
But what I miss is myself
I will never be the same because I have killed a man.
Amanda Kay Burke Oct 2021
Woke up with headache
How day usually starts
The pain within my cranium
Does not compare to my heart

As tide creeps slowly in
Hope slyly sneaks out
The list of things I'm not
All I seem to think about

My voice dropped an octave
Sound I've grown to hate
It's just another line
In list of unattractive traits

I might be an artist
Good with words I am told
The descriptions I paint aren't pretty
Because world has made me cold

Life getting exhausting
Fed up with each breath
Have no choice but to carry on
Only cowards escape through death

Faces wearing smiles pass
Deepening my frown
Others make it look easy
Depression keeps me down

Darkness spreading as disease
Throughout expanse of my soul
My body feels like it's swallowed
By bottomless black hole

Turning corner after corner
Never reaching the maze's end
I get more and more lost
In labyrinth with every bend

Not sure if poor judgement to blame
Or the culprit is destiny
Either way stuck as a prisoner
Of everything I will never be
I had so much potential but I threw it all away
TheWitheredSoul Sep 2021
I am caught in the Cadence of your breath.
Your Decadence melts my soul as if It was yours.

I wondered as prisoner of this soulless grave roaming around on the wake of light and falling down on the drapes of night.

Will I ever feel the warmth of your breath or the gaze of your eyes which is more than enough to dream of for a thousand lifetimes, more than enough to be your prisoner for eons and ages to come..?
Life is so fragile. All those perfect moments that we wait for never arrives as we expect it to.
I buried my love even before I had the courage to let it be born.
If at all we collide again in all this randomness I promise I will hold on to you and love you and care for you more than anyone on this entire planet.
Nigdaw Jul 2021
set a scene
to visit when you're alone
lets call it your happy place
it is waiting
somewhere in the trees
among the rushes by a stream
in flowering meadows
evergreen
permanent summer
caught in warm breeze
where you can rest
your ill at ease
visit as often as you can
feel it, taste it, soak it in
it is your freedom
beyond locked doors
isolation
the hatred of man
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