Shackled down to the bed, a prisoner of your own mind. The dark walls encroaching on your breathing space, choking you with memories of days where smiles and happiness don't exist. A figment of your imagination to get through the night. Trapped in a world where night is eternal, and your heart beat is like a sick bird. Barely flapping it's wings and not nearly strong enough to escape the hands of the person holding it's soon to be lifeless body. Your heart breaks, and you know you'll never be whole, you'll never be the same. You don't speak about it because some things are better left unsaid, but the more you live in silence, the sicker you get. Sick of being sick, you wait out the shackles as they rust and turn to dust. You thrust yourself off of the dust worn bed, stumbling and staggering to your feet. You open the door before the dark walls swallow you whole and the world outside is so bright your eyes can barely adjust. You see dark spots and colors flashing in your eyes, still unable to see before it becomes clear. The green grass before you soft, and vibrant with life. The once helpless bird flies by in a race with it's kin, to a finish line in the sky where there is no limit, just infinite space. You fall to your knees as tears of happiness leak over your tear ducts. Happiness, and all things good are not the illusion. The darkness is.
YOU ARE READING
Here's to the Past
RandomThese are written works from my days in high school. Before I gave up writing. They range from short stories to poems. I found them on my old laptop and figured why not let them see the light of day. As I find more of these works, I will publish th...
