I guess that I’m angry. That I didn’t have it great. That I can’t relate. I speak what I’ve been through. Looking for some escape. But all I see is black around me. No light. I cannot get out. I’m stuck in this prison I condemned myself to. Seems like I hear the same things every day. Searching, crawling and begging for the key. To set me free from this prison cell. Flesh and blood. Conflict with those around me. Passion deep within, stirring. Words that I can never take back. Things that I cannot forget. Images committed to memory. What is it that I live for? Hope. It was a few months ago. I gave up on that word. I say, I have to be living for something good. Something sweet. Searching and searching my heart. But when I touch it. It all seems hollow and empty. And I fear. Could this be the end? And yet, I still breathe.



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