My mind is my prison

when it should be my home

where I sit in front

of an open fire and

keep myself snug and warm.

Instead my prison guards

are my thoughts and

situations my bars,

together they keep me

in solitary confinement,

but I am always keeping

a close watch on my sentries

as they make their regular patrol

and I begin to see a pattern

to their s...

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He gathered his thoughts in a plastic bag
to carry around with him,
to bring out when needed,
when he wanted to reuse them.

Tired and forgotten memories
that could be re-ignited,
and at any chosen time
to be used to tear down their target.

Their life in the airtight container
starved them of any air
thus, actually rendering them
ineffectual and for all intents 
and purposes dead.

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