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I didn’t have time. Not anymore. It was here. And I was its prisoner.
I tried to run; flee to anywhere but here. The trains mocked me, kept creaking at my every heartbeat. It didn’t care anymore. It was done playing with me. I foolishly thought I could outrun it.
A quick swish. Crimson; warm and wet. I grabbed my throat in reaction but it was too late. I was dying faster than I’d imagined.
My last thought, my dying gasps, were “Why me?”
By Kellie H. on 09.09.2013
immortalized in ink, on paper and skin
in daydreams of you; of who you had been
in wishes I make as stars shoot through the sky
an idea of a person; one I’ll never let die.
By Carly URL on 09.09.2013
I give up, I give in.
I. Give. In.
Consistently wanting more
But I can’t reach out
And take it if you won’t
Untie my hands from the bed.
Serve me up for dinner
I will be your every meal.
Should have known you weren’t
Going to share me with the world,
But can you spare me a part of my heart
So I won’t starve when you’re not around?
By Lb on 09.09.2013
I once read an article from a man who has spent the last 23 years in solitary confinement. It made me wonder if I could be a prisoner under those circumstances. The average person begins to descend into insanity after about three months in “the hole.” This man, however, said he has maintained his sanity and will not let prison break him. Remind me to tell you about the man who got a DUI and was accidentally left in solitary confinement for 22 months. I’ll say this: HE GOT $15 MILLION and I still wouldn’t trade places with him.
By Corey Martin on 09.09.2013
I am a prisoner of Christ. I’m not free to do as I desire. But this is exactly as I would have it. Left to my own devices, I am an enemy of God. I’m a sinner, through and through. In fact, I still am. But praise God, who saves my by His grace, through what Christ did for me on the cross.
By Chris Huff URL on 09.09.2013
He was a prisoner of his own mind. Small rituals of deification consumed him, leading him to spend his life worshiping meaningless, trivial things that had no connection to anything other. And yet, he found a quiet happiness in the methods of his madness. So how could I have stopped him?
By John Doe on 09.09.2013
Locked away on the island, as number 2 he didn’t know why he was kept. Plus that big white fucking ball would catch him if he ever tried to escape. The “village” was sparse but pleasant.
By Dan on 09.09.2013
“I’m no princess! I’m a…a prisoner. Locked in this ivory tower like a bird in a cage. And you sit there and expect me to sing for you, my captor? Why should I? Does the captured nightingale sing? No. Even if the bars of its’ cage are made of gold, not a sound will pass it’s beak. It would rather die. And so would I,”
By S.C. Lovelace on 09.09.2013
By Ericka Renee on 09.09.2013
Being caught; One is always a prisoner of the mind if wrong thinking is present.
Change your direction by changing your focus.
He knew i’d caught him.
I could see the fear washing over his eyes. Redemption was mine and I was going to make him pay for everything he had done to my family. I cornered him, and roped his hands behind his back and dragged him by the arm towards the exit.
By Sacha Black on 09.09.2013
He hated his life, he felt like he was a prisoner with no means ıf escape. The hell with it, he decided, it’s now or never to make radical changes…in the morning I’m going to ditch my job, move overseas, and take it from there.
By toquenbrew on 09.09.2013
I felt like a prisoner. The walls caved in around me. I found myself scraping along the fluffy white floor. I can’t remember what happened. I just know that I was awake and moving. Flowing freely, gracefully. There was a sound and then a bang. The kind of bang, where you only hear it in your head. And then the lights become brighter while everything becomes dark at the same time.
By Lance on 09.09.2013
A prisoner within his own body, the young man searched for ways to communicate with the outside world. Nothing was working though. He could see, but not move his eyes nor blink. Moving any of his limbs or appendages was also out of the question. He just wanted to let someone know that he was still there, trapped, and could hear his family. The few times he had cried the staff and his family thought something had irritated his eyes and had closed them. Effectively cutting him off from anything but hearing. He hated being a prisoner in this damnable cell within his own body and he would break free, even if it meant his death.
By FairyNiamh on 09.09.2013
Not only stuck inside a body, but forever in your own soul shape. At the same time, never completely enjailed, free by definition.A prisioner, to your own freedom.
By debs on 09.09.2013
She felt like a prisoner in her own home. Oh she knew she had the freedom to come and go as she pleased, but she could not find the happiness she so truly searched for.
By marylou wynegar URL on 09.09.2013
The prisoner looked through the glass at his long-time sweetheart. She was laughing on the arm of a strange man. All of a sudden his vision went fuzzy. ‘This can’t be happening! She was supposed to love me forever! Even through this… Will she ever understand?’
By Hailey on 09.09.2013
His face remained as it was when he arrived. Everything identical, excluding his eyes, whose greyness reflected the walls surrounding him. It was always tough being here, he was adamant they they did not need marriage counselling.
By Lorcan O' Connor on 09.09.2013
All within her living cell encasing her.
By Grace on 09.09.2013
The prisoner looked through the glass at his long-time sweetheart. She was laughing on the arm of a strange man. All of a sudden his vision went fuzzy. ‘This can’t be happening! She was supposed to love me forever, even through this. How could she forget that promise?’
The stress made me a prisoner inside four walls and my internet connection. I was losing the ability to look people in the eye and stuttered more than usual. My ability to write poetry was nowhere to be found in the public eye who witnessed my butchered stumbling of the English language. I was a slave to online shopping and people avoidance. The public scared me even though I had nothing to lose.
By Ruben URL on 09.09.2013
I have been taken. I am lost, alone, tired, scared. There is no one here for me. I continue life not even day by day, but minute by minute, second by second, caught in the monotony and misery of captivity. I am a prisoner within myself.
By D'Ette Marceaux on 09.09.2013
I sometimes feel like I’m prisoner of my own thoughts. Holding myself back because of words like, “improper”, “crazy”, or “uncouth”. But today, I’m breaking out.
By Annee on 09.09.2013
I am a prisoner of my own irrational feelings.
By Jason on 09.09.2013
You’re free insofar as you can choose any cage you like. We’re all prisoners in this world. So say the servers of shit sandwiches. They’d really love it if you’d take a bite, too. It’s important to them. It makes them feel better about what they’ve eaten.
By amygdala on 09.09.2013
Im like a prisoner the prison being my mind
ive been accused of being a prisoner of my positive actions
these postive actions include meditation
and buddhist chanting, going to 12 step meetings
By nick on 09.09.2013
Ten years and I feel like a prisoner in my own home. How did that happen? When did he turn from the white knight in shining armor to my warden?
By Sheila URL on 09.09.2013
Where is your audience now, little girl?
You are me, and I am you, and there is nobody to hear you through these crumbling walls.
By s on 09.09.2013
We are all trapped, he thinks to himself, leaning against the stone marker. We’re all trapped with no hope for survival. The thought chills him in the most comforting way, and he gives the headstone one last pat before pulling his coat even tighter.
By a on 09.09.2013
Take no prisoners. We’re prisoners of our own decisions. Prisoners of lifestyle. Prisoners of ill-health. Prisoners of mental disease. Trapped in our worlds and circumstances. Freedom. Free to choose. Free to speak your mind.
By Paul Eveleigh on 09.09.2013
I was a prisoner in my own head. It wasn’t their questions that tortured me; it was mine. I lay there for hours on the floor of my cell, screaming and crying, curled up into a ball. This is what they had done to me, but I had allowed it to happen. I lost my will so early on in the fight, and now I was broken and dying.
By Kristina on 09.09.2013
I’m a prisoner in my own home. The windows are suffocating me and the doors are always locked. The bars are invisible but are there. I long to be free outside these walls but something is keeping me locked inside. And that something is me and my fear of the unknown.
By Amber on 09.09.2013
Alone. Blocked from the world. That is how I feel. Many people envy me, but I dont see why. Being a princess is like being a prisoner in your own home.
By Love on 09.09.2013
She grinned, a sickening expression that seemed to make the air grow colder. He squirmed trying to follow his captor as she slowly tip toed behind him, arms spread for balance like a ballerina; his efforts were rewarded by a sharp tug pulling tighter on the strap that held his head in place.
“W-what are you doing?” He asked frantically, crying out as he heard noises that could only be described as disturbing. THUNK. Ssshhhhh. THUNK. Sssshhhhh.
“Digging you a grave,” Came the innocent reply, lofting above the hysteric whimpers of her prisoner.
“WHAT?! No, please no! Please–” Mocking laughter cut short his frantic pleas.
“Oh hush, I’m not going to bury you…” She mused, coming to stand just inside of his line of vision. His faith in her word was shaken as he realized she was leaning on a shovel, her head tilted with almost feline grace. A question rose in his throat but only squeezed past as a high pitched squeal.
“Well, of course no, silly. After the acid, there’s going to be nothing left to bury.”
By heather URL on 09.09.2013
I am a prisoner to my hair. I will accomplish nothing until I have gotten all the tangles out – I fear I will never accomplish anything.
By Hannah on 09.09.2013
“You are the newest prisoner. Your name will be nothing but a single syllable, to identify you. We don’t give you a number because we aren’t barbarians. You will be expected to follow the rules, and if you do, you will be treated with respect. Not cruelty.”
Donna blinked. She stood motionless in front of the incarceration council.
“So what’s my prison name, then?”
The head councilwoman smiled. “Your name, m’dear, will be Dash.”
By Belinda Roddie URL on 09.09.2013
Twenty years, I’ve lived in this house, this agreeable, cheerful suburban abode that everyone takes pictures of as they drive by. Twenty years, I’ve been a slave to my parents, who work me endlessly, but no one understands. “Don’t complain about free rent, man,” is what they all say, and the girls don’t think it’s cool that I live with my parents in even that nice house, but if only they knew what kind of torture happens beneath the olive green shutters, they’d see why I call me the prisoner.
By Samantha on 09.09.2013
“Our fates are our own,” he said, shaking the chains of his manacles in front of him. “We may be prisoners here, but we are only held captive if we allow them to shackle our souls. That is why I will smile to the gallows.”
I looked at him and wished I could have the same courage in the face of death.
By Isilo Aranel on 09.09.2013
green flashes, a train carriage
faces blank, suspended
in tight formation
across a silver seam
or a scar
or cracked glass
trees, now poles
a silver shell
in silent reflection
By david URL on 09.09.2013
Up against the grate,
and slowly I shimmy a key an inch to the left
where my thumb can slip into a metal loop and pull
some freedom toward this glaring insecurity.
If it fits just right, I’ll eat the uncaged
air for my breakfast this fine day.
By ObsidianSky URL on 09.09.2013
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.