I'm not starving like most of Africa, or trying to flea its war
There is no looking out of a single celled room, an externally
locked door, and a four barred window. This isn't my reality.
My prison is much different to that. It feels like I'm in hell, locked
inside the straight jacket that is the torment of my mind.
No words or therapy can grant me parole or early release for
Despite the years of unrelenting tears no reprieve will come.
At times I wish I was that Cat A number then I would understand
my prolonged, agonising sentence.
I have all the liberties of a free man still my mind has trapped me
within the four walls of grief and sadness. I know not when
this will end but beg to thy maker to set me free.
Often I have found myself on my knee's preying to the skies
only to find I am talking to me.