I am trapped within a prison, the confines of my own mind. I am trapped by the things I want, by the things I need, by the wants of others, and their needs as well. I can’t escape, and I can’t breathe, but I’m fighting like hell to stay afloat. With all this water, no one knows that I’m crying. With all this water, no one can tell that I’m thrashing, not swimming,
Society held me prisoner. All I wanted was to return to where I came from – to go back to the forest, live off of the land. To listen to the winds and speak to the trees, to let the roar of the river shake the ground beneath my feet. I just wanted to let go, and I couldn’t do that here.
Thanks to decades of conditioning, he’s become a prisoner to the sheer probability of destruction. At any moment a flash of worst-case scenarios plays in his head for an instant, even during his morning oatmeal.
I glared up at my captor, and he just sighed. “Really, if you just talked, this would go so much smoother.” He leaned down and laid his fingers against my cheek. “Come on, beautiful. I’d rather not put a bruise on your pretty face.” I spat in his eye, and as he reeled back with a dozen curses, I knew that I’d just burned that bridge…but I didn’t care. I was willing to die for this, to protect the family I’d found without meaning to.
A prisoner to my thoughts and the places I am chained to but then I must endure that frustration for it may well be crucial to finding satisfaction. #isitstillnotfriday?
Falling into a deep trance and walking in the halls into the dungeon, I saw the small flames of torches flicker through the walls. The slow steps echoed through the halls. For I was now a prisoner. Each cell was dark and gloomy. Who were in these small cells? Were they still alive? Why was I here?
I looked up from my chains and stared at the bright sun until my eyes watered. It had been so long since I’d lookup up from the ground. As I slowly shuffled my feet along the hard ground, I wondered how it had all come to this. Where was Amy?
I’m a prisoner I carried a machete around in Walmart and killed old people who got in my way so I’m a very, very bad person. AND YOU ARE NEXT TO DIE!!!!!!
the boy was a prisoner to the kidnappers. people who kill other people should not be prisoners but be put to death. she was a prisoner to the drugs she had thought she could escape so long ago.
There came a point when he had difficulty punching the keys because his thoughts and his feelings aren’t in sync, his body isn’t cooperating too; his fingers trembling, his eyes drooping, generally his whole body recuperating from last night when he had too much than he intended to drink. He wouldn’t do this first hour in the morning but he had too because his publisher told him so. One would think he’s a prisoner of his profession but little do they know that he chose this kind of life. All that whiskey flowing in his veins, it may worth something in the near future.
cage iron bars verdict guilty mischief love uniform striped horizontal black unfortunate experience life vipassana miserable toilet cell concrete war handcuffs head down dejected
Doyle flipped through the file Matt had given him. “Lucy” was, as he had suspected, born into money. He wondered if it was some genetic trait that turned people with money into sociopaths, or was there some kind of college course they were sent on. Her real name was Dolores Eugene, daughter of a banker from New York, but she had dropped out of society after a few years of running a charitable foundation for her father, claiming that while it ostensibly contributed to worthwhile causes, pledging donations to housing projects and schools, it was in reality laundering money for some of her fathers less sociable clients. To rebel against this, she had joined an underground group of hackers, dabbling in cyber terrorism and other intrigue, including smuggling information and other contraband into federal prisoners. This had gotten her hooked up with a group of right wing extremists, who ranted vaguely about overthrowing the government. Her file ended abruptly at this point, apparently as a result of pressure from the top to cease observation of her. Doyle threw the folder down on the car seat beside him, and stared into the distance. He had become tangled up in a very complicated mess, and he had to figure out how to cut himself free from this puppeteer without falling to the floor.
He was a prisoner when it came to her love, it was almost like he was under a spell when he saw her. She adored him for he followed her like a puppy everywhere she went.
prisoners of the past are the present’s present;
the previous lecturing marks of society…
dwell in the riveting river of tears;
where art thou now that were obesely happy..
The prisoner unleashes wraths of freedom when kin play to win against all else
Are we all not prisoners in some form or another? We may be free of physical barriers, but we are prisoners of our thoughts, our actions, or our relationships.
There was a man in the county jail. He’d been there as long as anyone could remember. No one knew how old he was, no one could remember why he was there. But he’d always been there, the man in cell 9 in block C.
I am a prisoner in the world. The bars are what separate my heart from yours, and you don’t even see it. I can’t even breathe right, or even talk. I can only blink, and hope that somehow you’ll understand what I’m trying to tell you and what I feel inside. My thoughts are prisoner inside my chest.
I am a prisoner in my own home. I get locked in my bedroom all day, I’m not allowed to come out. They treat me like a real prisoner. All I get to eat is stale, cold, hard bread and lukewarm water.
I’m a prisoner of my own incompetence pains me to know that I can use my phone my phone is small touchscreen enabled device toI really don’t like using my phone for this I’m not very good at dictation is being good education and yell probably misspelled but yes yes
When my brother would pick on me, iv always wanted him to some day be a prisoner of the law, and I would be a police officer, so I would be able to pick on him
He sat silently in the cage, his face pressed against the concrete wall, the bars opposite him fading in and out of his vision. His legs were tucked up against his chest, making his body as small as possible.
What are you a prisoner to? I am a prisoner of anxiety. A prisoner of obligation. A prisoner to capitalism. A prisoner of the patriarchy in a society cyclical & overwrought. I am a prisoner to others out of my own blown-up sense of shame & guilt, a prisoner to myself. What is your prison & where are the guards these days?
could have, should have
snatched the key as
i hugged you
(oh, how it felt warm
back then)-
i’d be having a taste of freedom now
in the absence of your presence.
i shouldn’t have
fall into your trap
into the deep abyss of
your affection.
couldn’t have, shouldn’t have,
entered your game of love
because now I’m stuck
as your prisoner, and i think
i won’t be tasting the skies
anymore.
Stuck inside my own lie of life. The walls of fear are stronger than those of hope. The bars of anger tight against the wall. I’m trapped prisoner inside a box of uncertainty.
outside of the cage, the invisible chains are adamantine. escape into the cell. away from the panoptic gaze of the exhausting other. liberation through isolation.
His office cubicle was exactly 12X8 feet. He’d measured it more times than he cared to admit. Lots of care and money went into making it comfortable. But the shared partition meant there were no windows or music or any semblance of freedom to let off a little steam. He spared a longing glance at his fake wall and returned to typing.
He didn’t like feeling this. It was odd, it was new, it was suffocating. Why now? Most importantly, why her? He knew he can’t love her, but he’s become a prisoner of his own feelings. Trapped in her words, the look in her eyes, the scent of her hair. It’s maddening.
The thoughts inside our heads were trapped like prisoners in a rusty jail cell. Inside our heads were colors and explosions and images of us taking on the world. One by one we would walk away from those who would mind and one by one there was no one left. When we smiled roses bloomed in our eyes and we felt whole. I can’t remember a day when you weren’t near…Until now. Now the roses in our eyes are wilted. And the explosions in our minds are no more. And the colors have faded. And the thoughts spilled all over the floor.
But there’s still sunshine.
~xo s.r.a
I am trapped within a prison, the confines of my own mind. I am trapped by the things I want, by the things I need, by the wants of others, and their needs as well. I can’t escape, and I can’t breathe, but I’m fighting like hell to stay afloat. With all this water, no one knows that I’m crying. With all this water, no one can tell that I’m thrashing, not swimming,
i made myself my own prisoner. a prisoner of over-pleasure and indulgence. nothing is special any longer. nothing is fun.
Society held me prisoner. All I wanted was to return to where I came from – to go back to the forest, live off of the land. To listen to the winds and speak to the trees, to let the roar of the river shake the ground beneath my feet. I just wanted to let go, and I couldn’t do that here.
Thanks to decades of conditioning, he’s become a prisoner to the sheer probability of destruction. At any moment a flash of worst-case scenarios plays in his head for an instant, even during his morning oatmeal.
I glared up at my captor, and he just sighed. “Really, if you just talked, this would go so much smoother.” He leaned down and laid his fingers against my cheek. “Come on, beautiful. I’d rather not put a bruise on your pretty face.” I spat in his eye, and as he reeled back with a dozen curses, I knew that I’d just burned that bridge…but I didn’t care. I was willing to die for this, to protect the family I’d found without meaning to.
A prisoner to my thoughts and the places I am chained to but then I must endure that frustration for it may well be crucial to finding satisfaction. #isitstillnotfriday?
Falling into a deep trance and walking in the halls into the dungeon, I saw the small flames of torches flicker through the walls. The slow steps echoed through the halls. For I was now a prisoner. Each cell was dark and gloomy. Who were in these small cells? Were they still alive? Why was I here?
I was a prisoner of war till he found me, he set me free so I could do good with my life. I’m grateful for what he’s done I only wish I knew his name.
I looked up from my chains and stared at the bright sun until my eyes watered. It had been so long since I’d lookup up from the ground. As I slowly shuffled my feet along the hard ground, I wondered how it had all come to this. Where was Amy?
I’m a prisoner I carried a machete around in Walmart and killed old people who got in my way so I’m a very, very bad person. AND YOU ARE NEXT TO DIE!!!!!!
There are many movies about prisoners.Some of which are pow movies (Prisoner of WAR )
the boy was a prisoner to the kidnappers. people who kill other people should not be prisoners but be put to death. she was a prisoner to the drugs she had thought she could escape so long ago.
There came a point when he had difficulty punching the keys because his thoughts and his feelings aren’t in sync, his body isn’t cooperating too; his fingers trembling, his eyes drooping, generally his whole body recuperating from last night when he had too much than he intended to drink. He wouldn’t do this first hour in the morning but he had too because his publisher told him so. One would think he’s a prisoner of his profession but little do they know that he chose this kind of life. All that whiskey flowing in his veins, it may worth something in the near future.
locked up
lonely cages
made of bone
beating stone
into flesh
raw and red
hollow silence
haunts
the moments
which came
before
Prisoner again? Ugh, I just did this not even 2 HOURS ago! That’s what I get for being late I guess… Is that is
A man/woman in jail, a person who did something bad so he will be locked up for a few years.
cage iron bars verdict guilty mischief love uniform striped horizontal black unfortunate experience life vipassana miserable toilet cell concrete war handcuffs head down dejected
Doyle flipped through the file Matt had given him. “Lucy” was, as he had suspected, born into money. He wondered if it was some genetic trait that turned people with money into sociopaths, or was there some kind of college course they were sent on. Her real name was Dolores Eugene, daughter of a banker from New York, but she had dropped out of society after a few years of running a charitable foundation for her father, claiming that while it ostensibly contributed to worthwhile causes, pledging donations to housing projects and schools, it was in reality laundering money for some of her fathers less sociable clients. To rebel against this, she had joined an underground group of hackers, dabbling in cyber terrorism and other intrigue, including smuggling information and other contraband into federal prisoners. This had gotten her hooked up with a group of right wing extremists, who ranted vaguely about overthrowing the government. Her file ended abruptly at this point, apparently as a result of pressure from the top to cease observation of her. Doyle threw the folder down on the car seat beside him, and stared into the distance. He had become tangled up in a very complicated mess, and he had to figure out how to cut himself free from this puppeteer without falling to the floor.
He was a prisoner when it came to her love, it was almost like he was under a spell when he saw her. She adored him for he followed her like a puppy everywhere she went.
prisoners of the past are the present’s present;
the previous lecturing marks of society…
dwell in the riveting river of tears;
where art thou now that were obesely happy..
The prisoner unleashes wraths of freedom when kin play to win against all else
Are we all not prisoners in some form or another? We may be free of physical barriers, but we are prisoners of our thoughts, our actions, or our relationships.
A prisoner is someone who goes to jail. From doing something wrong .
my friends mom was a prisoner. but they still keep in toch they call eachother.
There was a man in the county jail. He’d been there as long as anyone could remember. No one knew how old he was, no one could remember why he was there. But he’d always been there, the man in cell 9 in block C.
A prisoner is a person that committed a crime and was sent to prison for it.
A prisoner is a person that commited a crime and was sent to prison for it.
I am a prisoner in the world. The bars are what separate my heart from yours, and you don’t even see it. I can’t even breathe right, or even talk. I can only blink, and hope that somehow you’ll understand what I’m trying to tell you and what I feel inside. My thoughts are prisoner inside my chest.
I am a prisoner in my own home. I get locked in my bedroom all day, I’m not allowed to come out. They treat me like a real prisoner. All I get to eat is stale, cold, hard bread and lukewarm water.
I’m a prisoner of my own incompetence pains me to know that I can use my phone my phone is small touchscreen enabled device toI really don’t like using my phone for this I’m not very good at dictation is being good education and yell probably misspelled but yes yes
When my brother would pick on me, iv always wanted him to some day be a prisoner of the law, and I would be a police officer, so I would be able to pick on him
He sat silently in the cage, his face pressed against the concrete wall, the bars opposite him fading in and out of his vision. His legs were tucked up against his chest, making his body as small as possible.
What are you a prisoner to? I am a prisoner of anxiety. A prisoner of obligation. A prisoner to capitalism. A prisoner of the patriarchy in a society cyclical & overwrought. I am a prisoner to others out of my own blown-up sense of shame & guilt, a prisoner to myself. What is your prison & where are the guards these days?
could have, should have
snatched the key as
i hugged you
(oh, how it felt warm
back then)-
i’d be having a taste of freedom now
in the absence of your presence.
i shouldn’t have
fall into your trap
into the deep abyss of
your affection.
couldn’t have, shouldn’t have,
entered your game of love
because now I’m stuck
as your prisoner, and i think
i won’t be tasting the skies
anymore.
Stuck inside my own lie of life. The walls of fear are stronger than those of hope. The bars of anger tight against the wall. I’m trapped prisoner inside a box of uncertainty.
outside of the cage, the invisible chains are adamantine. escape into the cell. away from the panoptic gaze of the exhausting other. liberation through isolation.
the bars stood vertically
5cm apart
surrounding the mind
surrounding what i call
freedom
freedom it is
no more
His office cubicle was exactly 12X8 feet. He’d measured it more times than he cared to admit. Lots of care and money went into making it comfortable. But the shared partition meant there were no windows or music or any semblance of freedom to let off a little steam. He spared a longing glance at his fake wall and returned to typing.
He didn’t like feeling this. It was odd, it was new, it was suffocating. Why now? Most importantly, why her? He knew he can’t love her, but he’s become a prisoner of his own feelings. Trapped in her words, the look in her eyes, the scent of her hair. It’s maddening.
The thoughts inside our heads were trapped like prisoners in a rusty jail cell. Inside our heads were colors and explosions and images of us taking on the world. One by one we would walk away from those who would mind and one by one there was no one left. When we smiled roses bloomed in our eyes and we felt whole. I can’t remember a day when you weren’t near…Until now. Now the roses in our eyes are wilted. And the explosions in our minds are no more. And the colors have faded. And the thoughts spilled all over the floor.
But there’s still sunshine.
~xo s.r.a
prisoner is very