My prison is not of bars on windows, or concrete walls. It’s only windows are my words and the only walls that keep me locked are the walls of my own mind. My prison may not be physical, but its as if I’m chained to a wall, unable to move and left only to hang in the darkness. The darkness is impossible to see through, but I know there’s a presence. A presence of a monster, lurking in the depths. Some days I mange to slip though the chains, and I begin my free fall to freedom thought the dark. But the monster always catches me. He waits for the moment to decimate my shattered pieces. He swallows me whole, churning me within him before spitting me back out, held together only by his slobbery glue. He hangs me back up in the chains, and settled below me, waiting for me to slip once more. This is the cycle of my prison, the cycle of my mind.