Flesh and brick, it's all the same

A poem about psychotic depression.

My soul is trapped
In a cage of flesh.

My body is trapped
Within four walls.
Sometimes the walls are brick,
Sometimes stone,
Sometimes plaster,
But regardless, I am held prisoner here.

I'm the most lonely in the yard with the other inmates --
I'm freest in solitary.

My heart and mind are not to be trusted.
They're faulty, unreliable.
Sometimes they outright lie.

I try to behave, keep my head down, do my time,
But I want to fight my way out,
Stare down the barrel of a gun and laugh.

There's no pain that I can't live through,
But sometimes I wonder why I bother to try.
Yeah, there are good moments, but they hardly outweigh the bad.

Life is precious, you say?
There's an overabundance of life on this rock we call Earth.
What do you need mine for?
The world will turn without me.
You'll miss me, but you'll live.

I want to be free.
Let me out.

The End

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