Prisoner

By A Poem Guy

I am the warden,

And the prisoner,

The guard,

And the visitor.

Holding myself back,

A chain on a rabid dog’s cage,

The other me holds out a steak,

Taunting me with wants and desires I can’t reach.

I struggle against metal choking me,

But I pull myself to the wall.

Afraid of what may happen should the chain break.

4 of me,

1 of me.

All the same.

In charge of my actions,

I stroll down the sidewalk.

A nice break amongst the terror of boredom.

Held to my actions,

I keep myself walking.

Though I could always turn back,

The warden has made his decision.

More and more tired I grow,

But the guard has awoke,

And so forward I must go.

He will yell,

And curse,

Tell me that I’m weak for stopping.

It’s not that far, he will say,

But my legs start cracking.

I keep going,

Till the visitor appears.

What am I doing?

He asks.

What have I done?

I ask.

A new perspective,

Away from my goals,

An angel watching my emotions?

Or just me, noticing my mistake,

And giving me the option to turn around?

Back to the cell,

But back to control,

My space,

My rules.

I am the warden,

For I dictate my actions.

I am the prisoner,

For my actions are not my own.

I am the guard,

For my self-loathing and for my control,

And I am a visitor,

For my love, and uncontrollability.