I could write thousands upon thousands of poems about the darkness of shadows, the silver of moonlight, and the entrapment of night. I could describe endlessly the pure feeling of brokenheartedness, of hatred, of pain, and of chained hearts.
But I can't find the words to make you understand. I can't relate to you in words that will speak to your analyzing mind. I can only speak in colors and metaphors, I can only speak in my feeling experiencing way, and not in the cold hard factual meaning that you find.
Our arguments are not arguments, but debates. We don't speak in passion, but in statistics. And then, the numbers are never high enough, the reasons are never truly enough for you to see any wishes as reasonable.
I can only try to hold back the flood gates. I can only try to hold back my anger, my frustration, my sorrow, and my pain. I can not make you feel the unfairness and injustice that I feel. I can not make you see through my eyes. I can only pray.
I can only retreat, and fall to this authority's sword.
There is always an escape: an escape from the borders of a country, a freedom found in pills and bullets and darkness, or even a break in sanity that leads to an escape of the mind.
You say we must leave, because your health is in danger, your very life hangs in the battle. If handed the gun, I would pull the trigger, drive in the sword.
I ran and ran, only to return to bars. They were everywhere I turned. They pushed me back and pushed me farther. You saw me run, but never saw me turn the gun towards my own temple. You told others to check up on me, but never believed you had anything to do with it.
I still try. I still play by the house rules, and pay my time, but hey, plenty of people get out early because of good behavior, right? Maybe I'll get lucky. Maybe, life will hand me my one shot to freedom. I still try because there will be a day I won't have to try any more.
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