Darkest Days

Mind Slave

Oh, to be a slave to an owning mind.
Nights and mornings are restless,
Flesh and neck are both too stiff,
What a feeling of being so helpless.

I picture it as this; a burdened slave,
Held captive by its own, cloned self.
Not usually fighting against its shackles,
But knowing it's battling against oneself.

Weak and protruding bones stick out,
Noticeably starved and hungered,
The skin while tense is still stretched,
And most of the organs are ruptured.

Teeth as yellow as the sunflower petals,
And hair as mangled as it comes,
Its nails too long and curled,
Just a few of the gruesome outcomes.

Inside the cave where it's hidden,
It can hear the echoing of the beast.
And when it starts to near closer,
The heart rate starts to increase.

Thunderous steps rattle the chains,
And fear palpitates on its lips.
There is nothing worse than having to face,
It's anger moving like an eclipse.

The big burly thing is undescribable,
It moves in slow but sure of its pace,
Emotions are strong with this ugly thing
And it's anger strikes the slave in the face.

It's hard to imagine, being locked up.
It's almost as if it's worse than gaunt.
Not able to think the way that you should,
Or to speak when you should want.

You see, shaking in fear is much worse
Than lying in death because,
On those days where wonderlust fails,
The mind breaks similar; a vase.

Seems so simple, to hand over the ropes,
To let the slave take lead on the path,
But when emotions are at the advantage,
The mind feels like a psychopath.