A Prisoner of My Own Making

By: Tyner Twine I’m but a prisoner of my own making, In an ornate cage never-ending. I’m a flower that is slowly withering, A faulted soul in need of mending In the confines of my mind, I see another me, A version much much different, Than what others perceive to be. I don a gilded mask in the light of day, Pretend there is no need for pretending. Behind the closed doors in a room of blue and gray I’m trapped in a cycle of beginnings without endings. The dawn feels like a burden on my shoulders, The hopeful light of day makes it hard to breathe. And every day I carry this metaphorical boulder, Wishing for the solace of six feet underneath. I am a residual haunting all on my own, An apparition that continues to breathe. Crushed by daily self-deceptions I’ve said and sown With all my imperfections yet exposed and unsheathed. My calls for help were brushed as a joke and lie, My tears branded as art for theatrics. Eventually, a light in my soul has started to die, Snuffed by the words of the gullible and the critics. So, for tonight I’ll bid you all adieu, As I rest and close my jail cell for another day, My mind’s a frightening monster that’s hard to subdue, And it has once again come to spirit me away.