Prisoner

I have been in prison most of my life. How can I expect or know what it is like to be free. Free, as in freedom from myself, my addictions, my fears, my desires, my somethings. Oh, how I love to manufacture more of those steel bars, yet as I look around me I see no bars, I see no guards. I am frightened by the shadows of a mimicking cast and worrying about the next phantom, sheepishly staying put, cowering ever so slightly and ever afraid. Oh, I may find a legitimate group to join, but they too are afraid and imprisoned and provide no escape for me. No, if I am to escape this place, this wall-less void, I must see, plan and break free from the ties that bind. Do you see now? They have been telling me for years that I am free to walk. They have told me there is another side and a way out, but I have grown accustomed to my misery and have averted back to what I know, the predictable, unconscious entrapment. Do you see? Will you see? r