I was trapped inside my own mind, a prisoner of myself. I didn’t care if I hurt people, or if people hurt me. The only thing I cared about was myself, and I couldn’t stop.
All my life I have felt like a prisoner. I am an introvert and very insecure in everything I say and do. I am trapped by my emotions and feelings of abandonment at times.
She sat, chained to the chair in her own mind. He passed within inches of her. It wasn’t until he was totally out of the room that she felt her breathing return to normal. God. They couldn’t even be in the same room together. She was trapped, confined, contained in his gaze. He had a power over her. She denied it outloud. But let’s be honest, the lady doth protest to much.
The bars hold me like a bird in a cage. I stare at him; he stares right back. He thinks he owns me, but nothing could be further from the truth. I own him, and I own everything around me. Just wait until I get out of this. Yes, I am a bird in a cage; but you see, I am not just any bird: I am an eagle. And I am going to kill you.
A prisoner is a person who is stuck on someone or something, I mean it, a prisoner must be in jail for doing something aganist the law or he or she must be a prisoner of love, or for some desability. I think that the text express my ability of thinking and writing at the same time.
er saß auf dem Bett und dachte darüber nach, wie er hierhingekommen war. An viel erinnerte er sich nicht. Blut war im Spiel. Es klebte an seinen Händen und an seiner Wange.Es war seins. Niemand sonst war dort, dem es gehören konnte.
It seems like we are prisoner in this place. Approval to leave, approval to enter. Access card to enter the building, access card to leave the building. Chained to our desks – day in, day out. What is life. At least we are allowed to leave…once it has been approved
I’m a prisoner in my own head, consumed and locked up by my constant never ending thoughts. Inside my head is thought after thought, criticising myself, hating what I’ve become, wishing I had or hadn’t. Im a prisoner in my own mind and I can’t escape.
I had lost it all, my tongue, my words, the way I used to read. It was a full stop in the middle of a sentence. I gulped empty air and tried to paw at something but something was preoccupied and left nothing instead. It was dark, and I was lonely. I lit a cigarette and exhaled.
We are prisoners of our own minds. Sometimes one feels that there are limitations, boundaries when there are none. If I was a prisoner with a small window from where the light would be seeping in I would hold that as my beacon of hope.
Forty-two soldiers were taken prisoner after the Battle of Times Square, and over twenty of them died before we even reached the camp. One of the bodies, fresh and sweaty from exhaustion and sickness, slumped forward and onto another chained up “enemy of the state,” who gazed silently ahead with beaded eyes as I monitored the back of the truck.
i was sitting in isolation. Stoic, unfeeling, numb, separated, with no connection to anything that existed. I was but a thought, a dream, a hope, an idea that was sculpted out of the systematic events of my childhood. I was transparent, you could see through the small particles of dust that i was composed of. You could reach your hand out, touch me, feel me. But for me, your hand would go straight through my flesh and out my back. You could speak to me, engage in conversation and voice your opinions. But your words would fall on deaf ears, and i would find no meaning in your noisy silence. I would train my eyes on nothing in particular, but you would think that I was looking at you. I was an ocean. Waves and waves rolling over, each one powerful and strong. But each wave had to crash against a shore and foam and foam until it was nothing but a thought again. The ocean was vast, deep, mysterious, and undiscovered. You could never understand its flow and direction. But you tried anyways, and wasted your days, hours, minutes in an effort to control, dominate, understand. But it was of no use. The ocean was too fluid for you to hold in your arms, no matter what you do it’ll slip out. It’ll escape your restraints and be free. It’ll be a thought, a dream, a hope, an idea. Basking in the comfort of isolation, shining under the eternity of separation. Forevermore
Coming to work in the morning of each day can be considered to be the result of n enslavement that will lead to an untimely demise. This is not to say it is relevant for those that have been able to encapsulate their existence in a rewarding and fulfilling lifestyle and career.
a prisoner in her mind. a prisoner in his soul. prisoners all of their own making, for freedom is not given it is pursued, and taken; acquired -earned. Freedom comes at a price. The price of freedom is your life. Are you willing to die to be free? Or will you be a prisoner always?
I am a prisoner of my mind. Bound to the walls of reality and never exceeding beyond them. Prison break only subtly exists in a complete metamorphosis of biology.
He sat on the cold stone floor, his clothes damp from the water dripping through the ceiling. Chains clattered as he desperately tried to find a more comfortable position, but he couldn’t. Everything was cold and wet. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.
He clinked a bone up and down the bars. Day and night. Clllllllliiiiiiinnnnnnk, cllllllllluuuuuuunnnnnnk. The told him to knock if off, but it was all part of the plan. Days later he materialized on the other side of the bars. Little did the guards know that a mere prison couldn’t hold the Skeleton King for long.
Prisoner to the page. I’m asked to write. And to write without aim or qualification. I’m told it will set me and my writing and creativity free. Maybe they need not be freed. No one will know what I don’t tell. Maybe I’m the one who least wants to know what I really think.
We look for outsiders to shoulder the responsibility then wonder why we’re a prisoner of the decisions they make for us, ignoring our own choice that built the cage…
When have I every actually been trapped and imprisoned? Always within my own mind, within society. Always creating the boundaries over time. That’s why I keep moving country, that’s why I need the constant change.
I used to think a lot about being a prisoner, being trapped in a cage. My favourite poems were all ones about emancipation, freedom, dropping keys for prisoners. Now I think less about it but often say I feel trapped in my current life. Trapped in the small everyday station life.
i’m held captive to a life i don’t want to life. society is keeping me prisoner to a world that i can’t nor don’t want to conform too. i hate that society thinks im wrong or a different species or a “mistake”. why cant it be like in the old 1700s where it was said that “all men are created equal” because that isn’t the truth. it’s not how it is.
loose the freedom and gain some weight. that is not how it would have to be if I was prisoned. oh a movie is made by the name that I see high above this thing. oh, take him away he deserves to be in a better place than this.
I was a prisoner to my own design. Crafted from iron, loved like wine, and unable to bend bars controlled by time, i was trapped inside a cell of closed minds.
This was an extremely unfair situation. Someone had switched those potions; no way he would have made a mistake like that. He was mediocre at best, yes, but he wasn’t incompetent. Why would he risk selling something untested to the greatest hero to ever patronize his shop? Hell, he’d done more than walk in, that counted for something. He wouldn’t kill the guy.
“prisoner iam a prisoner of life of death a prisoner iam and prisoner ill be forever prisoner of limitations big and small oh how i long for wings to be free like the birds that is the life for me not the life of mere mortels but of super heros evin then i would be the prisoner of responsibilety for with great power comes great responsibilety alas wo is my fate to be prisener i see!”
I am the prisoner of my own mind. I am the one who has built those walls preventing me from really seeing things. I’ve turned my fears into concrete walls and I stay inside curled up on my prison bed.
I was trapped inside my own mind, a prisoner of myself. I didn’t care if I hurt people, or if people hurt me. The only thing I cared about was myself, and I couldn’t stop.
All my life I have felt like a prisoner. I am an introvert and very insecure in everything I say and do. I am trapped by my emotions and feelings of abandonment at times.
She was a prisoner to his love. No matter how much she wanted to she could never escape, She would always be bound by his love.
A prisoner is a person in prison. It can be a man, a woman, anybody. Not a kid of course. I’m not sure what makes it different from jail. Do you?
She sat, chained to the chair in her own mind. He passed within inches of her. It wasn’t until he was totally out of the room that she felt her breathing return to normal. God. They couldn’t even be in the same room together. She was trapped, confined, contained in his gaze. He had a power over her. She denied it outloud. But let’s be honest, the lady doth protest to much.
The bars hold me like a bird in a cage. I stare at him; he stares right back. He thinks he owns me, but nothing could be further from the truth. I own him, and I own everything around me. Just wait until I get out of this. Yes, I am a bird in a cage; but you see, I am not just any bird: I am an eagle. And I am going to kill you.
A prisoner is a person who is stuck on someone or something, I mean it, a prisoner must be in jail for doing something aganist the law or he or she must be a prisoner of love, or for some desability. I think that the text express my ability of thinking and writing at the same time.
er saß auf dem Bett und dachte darüber nach, wie er hierhingekommen war. An viel erinnerte er sich nicht. Blut war im Spiel. Es klebte an seinen Händen und an seiner Wange.Es war seins. Niemand sonst war dort, dem es gehören konnte.
It seems like we are prisoner in this place. Approval to leave, approval to enter. Access card to enter the building, access card to leave the building. Chained to our desks – day in, day out. What is life. At least we are allowed to leave…once it has been approved
I’m a prisoner in my own head, consumed and locked up by my constant never ending thoughts. Inside my head is thought after thought, criticising myself, hating what I’ve become, wishing I had or hadn’t. Im a prisoner in my own mind and I can’t escape.
I had lost it all, my tongue, my words, the way I used to read. It was a full stop in the middle of a sentence. I gulped empty air and tried to paw at something but something was preoccupied and left nothing instead. It was dark, and I was lonely. I lit a cigarette and exhaled.
He was a normal guy. Kind and nice to all the other people. But then his wife got sick so he robbed a bank, got caught and have never seen her again.
cold breath. metallic prison bars. an empty feeling. dementors are here. it’s my time it’s my time i feel it i is my time no love no life no soul no
*disclaimer: dementors are from the wonderful Harry Potter books & all rights go to the amazing J.K. Rowling
We are prisoners of our own minds. Sometimes one feels that there are limitations, boundaries when there are none. If I was a prisoner with a small window from where the light would be seeping in I would hold that as my beacon of hope.
Forty-two soldiers were taken prisoner after the Battle of Times Square, and over twenty of them died before we even reached the camp. One of the bodies, fresh and sweaty from exhaustion and sickness, slumped forward and onto another chained up “enemy of the state,” who gazed silently ahead with beaded eyes as I monitored the back of the truck.
i was sitting in isolation. Stoic, unfeeling, numb, separated, with no connection to anything that existed. I was but a thought, a dream, a hope, an idea that was sculpted out of the systematic events of my childhood. I was transparent, you could see through the small particles of dust that i was composed of. You could reach your hand out, touch me, feel me. But for me, your hand would go straight through my flesh and out my back. You could speak to me, engage in conversation and voice your opinions. But your words would fall on deaf ears, and i would find no meaning in your noisy silence. I would train my eyes on nothing in particular, but you would think that I was looking at you. I was an ocean. Waves and waves rolling over, each one powerful and strong. But each wave had to crash against a shore and foam and foam until it was nothing but a thought again. The ocean was vast, deep, mysterious, and undiscovered. You could never understand its flow and direction. But you tried anyways, and wasted your days, hours, minutes in an effort to control, dominate, understand. But it was of no use. The ocean was too fluid for you to hold in your arms, no matter what you do it’ll slip out. It’ll escape your restraints and be free. It’ll be a thought, a dream, a hope, an idea. Basking in the comfort of isolation, shining under the eternity of separation. Forevermore
Coming to work in the morning of each day can be considered to be the result of n enslavement that will lead to an untimely demise. This is not to say it is relevant for those that have been able to encapsulate their existence in a rewarding and fulfilling lifestyle and career.
a prisoner in her mind. a prisoner in his soul. prisoners all of their own making, for freedom is not given it is pursued, and taken; acquired -earned. Freedom comes at a price. The price of freedom is your life. Are you willing to die to be free? Or will you be a prisoner always?
I am a prisoner of my mind. Bound to the walls of reality and never exceeding beyond them. Prison break only subtly exists in a complete metamorphosis of biology.
He sat on the cold stone floor, his clothes damp from the water dripping through the ceiling. Chains clattered as he desperately tried to find a more comfortable position, but he couldn’t. Everything was cold and wet. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.
Stuck, trapped, chained, not free, sad, hurt, longing,
He clinked a bone up and down the bars. Day and night. Clllllllliiiiiiinnnnnnk, cllllllllluuuuuuunnnnnnk. The told him to knock if off, but it was all part of the plan. Days later he materialized on the other side of the bars. Little did the guards know that a mere prison couldn’t hold the Skeleton King for long.
He commit a crime, cops caught him and put him inside bars. He is a prisoner now.
Prisoner to the page. I’m asked to write. And to write without aim or qualification. I’m told it will set me and my writing and creativity free. Maybe they need not be freed. No one will know what I don’t tell. Maybe I’m the one who least wants to know what I really think.
We look for outsiders to shoulder the responsibility then wonder why we’re a prisoner of the decisions they make for us, ignoring our own choice that built the cage…
When have I every actually been trapped and imprisoned? Always within my own mind, within society. Always creating the boundaries over time. That’s why I keep moving country, that’s why I need the constant change.
I used to think a lot about being a prisoner, being trapped in a cage. My favourite poems were all ones about emancipation, freedom, dropping keys for prisoners. Now I think less about it but often say I feel trapped in my current life. Trapped in the small everyday station life.
i’m held captive to a life i don’t want to life. society is keeping me prisoner to a world that i can’t nor don’t want to conform too. i hate that society thinks im wrong or a different species or a “mistake”. why cant it be like in the old 1700s where it was said that “all men are created equal” because that isn’t the truth. it’s not how it is.
loose the freedom and gain some weight. that is not how it would have to be if I was prisoned. oh a movie is made by the name that I see high above this thing. oh, take him away he deserves to be in a better place than this.
I was a prisoner to my own design. Crafted from iron, loved like wine, and unable to bend bars controlled by time, i was trapped inside a cell of closed minds.
Release the barriers that create your imprisonment
We chose to be free. When we make those choices that will imprison us, it will take time to let go and be freed!
This was an extremely unfair situation. Someone had switched those potions; no way he would have made a mistake like that. He was mediocre at best, yes, but he wasn’t incompetent. Why would he risk selling something untested to the greatest hero to ever patronize his shop? Hell, he’d done more than walk in, that counted for something. He wouldn’t kill the guy.
i am a prisoner of foul play a prisoner of anger a prisoner of my persanality
………… ps my persanality funy,artsy,crafty,mispely,gamery,pantery,lovey,smart-ish-y,dumby-ish:D :” XD
helo ms.lane i am caleb prisoner of emaginashon wild alas
i have bilte walls of indiferins around me i have cut my self of from the world a prisoner of dout
“prisoner iam a prisoner of life of death a prisoner iam and prisoner ill be forever prisoner of limitations big and small oh how i long for wings to be free like the birds that is the life for me not the life of mere mortels but of super heros evin then i would be the prisoner of responsibilety for with great power comes great responsibilety alas wo is my fate to be prisener i see!”
I’m the prisoner of my own mind. I’ve turned my fears into concrete walls so I stay inside curled up on my prison bed.
im a prisenor of my mind pleas somwon help me escap it pllleeeeaaasss heeeeelllppp meeeeeee!
I am the prisoner of my own mind. I am the one who has built those walls preventing me from really seeing things. I’ve turned my fears into concrete walls and I stay inside curled up on my prison bed.