PRISONER BY CHOICE

 

Late?  

It is always late when I come to this place.

This place that harbors my soul.

 

Alone?

How could it be any other way?

Not my choice.

Totally my choice.

 

Dark?

I like it dark.

No, I need it to be dark so I will not see the pain.

The pain that will not leave me in peace.

The pain I seek.

 

Quiet?

Only around me.

Within, the unending voice I wish to silence refuses to obey.

Obey! Obey!

It cannot, I will not allow it to.

 

Hope?

Why do you taunt me?

Why do you make me believe?

Do the dammed still reach for hope?

They do, that is their damnation, and mine.

 

Tomorrow?

I wish for no tomorrow.

I pray for no continuation of this existence.

There will be the morrow though.

There will be the lateness, the loneliness, the dark, the deafening quiet, and the unanswered hope.

I curse the morrow.

I need the morrow.