They tell me I am addicted,
but addictions don’t bind my wrists in steel cuffs.
Nor do they place these bars in front of my eyes
and tell me I’m never getting away.
If I try to run,
there wouldn’t be these chains around my ankles,
scratching my skin raw until hope is gone.
If I tried to speak, someone would hear me
and rescue me from the cell in which I’ve been trapped.
If it were an addiction
there wouldn’t be cold hands holding me down
nor arms shoving me back against the wall.
When I try to stand
no one else would kick me back down
and tell me this is where I belong.
But if this weren’t an addiction,
why do I let these hands tie me down
and whisper my demise in my ear?
Why do I agree this is where I belong
when all I crave is to be free?
Why do I hate these shadows with all my heart
yet crave them with all my soul?
Why, when they give me nothing but fear
do I place the key out of this cell into their palms?