We are the prisoners of the night;
Shrouded in the secrecy of moonlight,
Cause it’s the only thing that protects us
From their penetrating gazes.
Everything yearns to be hidden. Even time itself,
Whose nervous hands slow to a stop
When given attention.
The darkness is our safe place.
Our only camouflage.
We are the prisoners of self-sufficiency;
Liberation without liberty,
Cause our independence is born
From an inability to reach out and say
Help me.
Call it isolation.
It’s nice being alone;
It’s the loneliness that’s scary.
But
So is intimacy.
We are the prisoners of regret;
Things that should have been done and said
And things that shouldn’t have.
Wounds heal
And scars fade
So why do my faults
Continue to blemish my skin
And reopen on their own whim?
While I’m in the arms of false security
That’s when it strikes.
A painful numbness forms a pit
At the bottom of my gut.
My heart is in my throat
And my pulse, in my ears;
A reminder that I’m still alive
But not living.
Dizziness,
Like the world itself is a carousel;
Bright lights
And the blur of a thousand
Piercing stares
In the illusion of merriment.
I’m scared.
What can’t be seen cannot disappoint,
What can’t be raised cannot fall, and
I can’t lament what hasn’t been done.
We are the prisoners of anxiety.
Hear our plea.