Sickly

I like to complain about being locked in I like to nag about my freedom About how much I have lost the illusion of control over things. Over me. I was scared. I was afraid that being alone with me would be devastating. There would be no escape from my mind. There would be no relieve from the stress. But here I am, locked in but still escaping, still avoiding Still on the brink of confronting the dark Still hesitating, still contemplating Still having dreamless nights Still not knowing the hows and whys Still not choosing the correct whens In a sense, I’ve always been shut out from the world. I’ve always had to filter their promises so that my eyes don’t sting and my chest doesn’t tighten in despair. I’ve always kept my space from people; keeping hell out but not letting heaven in I’ve always avoided spreading me, the true message of me Because I was afraid that leaving me would be too easy, and between them contagious. So when I say I can’t wait to get out, I mean it. I can’t wait to get out from this And breathe easy. And move forward