Insanity lines the walls of my own personal prison.
I can't seem to find a way out.
There are too many things,
Holding me here,
In place.
No, not that white cloth,
That wraps around me,
And cuts my breath short,
And not the walls,
That resembles clouds,
So soft and white.
It is my mind.
My mind is my prison,
And I can't get out,
No matter how hard I struggle,
No matter how hard I fight.
My imagination,
It has left me,
In the one moment I needed it the most.
It has fled like geese in winter,
It has gone far away,
And there's no way to get it back,
Because no one will help me,
And no one will let me,
Out of this confining shirt,
And these soft, cushy cloud walls,
So that I can recapture my imagination.