Shackles and chains...
you put these upon me.
My very own prison.
These shackles and chains…
though I have broken away,
the chains now louse, they drag on on the ground,
they weight heavy, slowing me down, dragging on.
The discomfort has changed though it is still there.
Some times it feels like you still have a hold of them.
I can brake them.
With enough time and effort,
I can chip away the shackles.
The work feels tiresome and almost hopeless…
I hope that they may simply rust away and fall off.
if that happens, it will take so much longer.
how do I know they will really rust away?
Perhaps these chains will fallow me until the end?
I resent you…
I resent them...
I resent my self for letting you place them on me…