in a box

in a box chased into a box its top nailed down it will not budge. movement so restricted, to fit the needs of others. air seems a scarce commodity, light, nonexistent; no hope of egress. cramped into the image constructed by someone else. imprisoned by guilt, not for the first time. fear, not of unknown, but known. shame for being so captured, again. it will suck the brevity from a life, leave it as an eternity in the hell of reality. © tlp 2010