I’ll never truly be ready
The air is thick, my breath is unsteady
Blurred vision, palms are sweaty
The weight on my shoulders is overwhelmingly heavy

Hope beacons through speech
Peaking through bars in the dark
Golden glowing hands are just out of reach
Until silence dulls their spark

Unnerving stillness, I can produce no sound
Speak, Shout, Scream, Shriek
Vocal chords are bound
Succumb to burdened bleak

Imprisoned by the mind
Shackled by expressions unkind
Tethered to being defined
Weary by these chains that bind

I lay down on the floor of my cell
A pile of wasted potential in a mortal shell
These are the tales I tell
From the depths of my hell