My spectacular prison
My prison is a place known all to well.
It brings joy to some and holds terror for most.
The air becomes heavy as I am forced to listen,
and I wouldn’t be surprised if it was declared treason.
the opportunities keep on getting cooler,
but the techniques that are used have always been quite peculiar.
I begin to ponder if it’s indirect torture,
taking its course gradually over time.
I wish that I could resurrect my euphoria,
even so, I have to return annually and I have no choice but to keep this
nostalgia.
All I can think about upon entering those gates is my downfall.
In spite of that, all I want to hear at the end of the year is a drumroll.
I’m well aware that it’s true and good for me,
however, it doesn’t hold a good tune,
Oh how I wish it could have been a better melody.
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