Cellotape held dreams

CATEGORY

life

Views: 298

I'm bound restricted, restrained.

Wrenched out of life's wheel, lost my grip from the spokes of reality, I'm detained.

In a 5 by 5 metre square perimeter, with a dull grey shade of 6ft tall walls decorated with thoughts of those from the time before.

My comfort in the form of a single, rock hard, resting place of my aching body with sheets to cover my head and dwell into more darkness.

As it's always dark, pieces of broken light bulbs taking advantage of the uncovered sole of my feet, penetrating the underpart of roughness.

A candle lit dinner from hell, filled with misery as I have only one match stick and have to battle with nature in form of a breeze.

Unlike the breeze of fresh air that puts you at ease mine's the broken window, right across my pillow, the main reason for my knee's uncontrollably hittin on each other giving birth to athritis.

I've seen my neighbours and now they not "normal" anymore.

Trying to keep myself together, pieces of a torn picture, with my hopes and dreams,cellotaped to the wall.

I still have direction, 23hours a day meditation, they can take my freedom away but not my imagination.

But they can bruise it, like the scars of my slit wrists from the time I almost lost it.

The time where it got too hectic and I wanted to just noose my problems with the linen of the bed sheets.

Suicide gives you a last kick of inspiration...to take the pain away.

But when you bound and trapped like a animal, there isn't another way.

Bound to the thoughts of wonder, of death, even a slow one, to you watching your mind not make it to the next day.

I've thought of many, set me affire, pummel me and bludgeon me, cut me to bits, shoot me, do what you will in the worst of days.

None of which could come cumulatively horrifying as losing touch with reality.

'The shackles' that keep me in a metres radial distance can't phase me as I've died a thousand internal deaths but not my poetry.

I can't lose my mind, filled with my hopes and dreams, if i do I won't be able to write.

A shadow apon my light in the dark tunnel of my life.

They might have me bound, restricted and restrained.

But I still got my head in the game, like a wild animal I'm hard to be tamed.

Like a moving train without breaks, I won't stop, Can't stop, I won't let my family be called to identify my body and give it a name.

In this room, this sad room, my physical being shall remain..but not the dreams held together by that cellotape.

My written pieces shall escape.