My prison

My prison doesn't have walls. No bars, No guards, No locks. My prison is my head. No matter how far I run I can't run far enough. My prison has made me weak. To weak to move. I'm stuck here in my bed hugging my teddy bear, puffing on a cigarette. Light head. I've finally fallen apart its only taken me two days. Tears stream down my face. I'm weak, I'm useless, I'm undesired. No emotions left to feel. No warmth from hugs of ones I love, I've become a robot. A scared robot. I've started to give into my addictions. My prison is taking control. Slowly I have no feeling left. I am a lifeless zombie walking around with a fake smile and a fake laugh just so no ones finds out my new secret. I've become so weak, staring down a razor. Do I do it. Theses vanes in my wrists look willing to bleed. Blood brought me comfort once, it could do it again. I sit here eyeing all my addictions. How weak will I get. Smoking is one thing bleeding is something total deferment. Walls, bars, and guards look better then my hell hole. I'm ready to give in to every addiction. Is the pen really mightier then the sword. Writing is my release, but cant it release this much pain this much anger this much hate. No matter how much I write how much I cry nothing can wash this pain away, This knife dances so nicely across me wrists.