They stagger from the back corners of my mind,
From a dark, foggy dungeon in this distant land
Begging for the reason I left them behind—
These fragmented thoughts too fragile to stand.
Their old, tired voices cannot impress my soul.
Their breath makes the air too quiet, too bleak..
The still fog in my mind is lonely and cold.
Oh, how they shiver so frail and so weak.
They limp in my mind just wanting to be known.
So fiercely, they demand their freedom from me.
“Imprison us not in this cruel torment alone,
The passion of your soul is our only key.”
On paper—should I set you free this way?
My crippled thoughts—no, not today, not today.