You think you can fool me?
Challenging my spirit, forcing my mind into the dark realms of comparison and envy, making me lazy and useless in the shadow of my own potential. It was a clever attempt, but I see you lurking behind my eyes, describing my life's positions over and over again then whispering, "what will you become, little flower?"

We Want Out

Scratching at the door
To this coffin
That we had built
With these very hands

Locked in to something
That we can't escape
Though our minds might waver
As these visions clear

Time is running out
As the air thins
But no one can hear
Our calls for help

I must ask:
When is it that I'll be truly alive?
Did it happen already or is it happening still?
Perhaps it is something that cannot be,
though there exists a feeling deep inside
that inspires me to believe
that I will never know.