I sense danger,

Yes,

It is there just like a stranger,

I can feel it.

Perceive it.

Is nothing I sense sacred?

I am angry,

Yes,

It is there,

It’s just like static,

But I can’t have it,

I am far too afraid of causing havoc,

I feel sinful,

My desires reach plateaus that no one knows,

I cannot decide if I am friend or I am foe,

And I will quake,

I will shake this cage until,

I get my fill,

Then I will drown in things bizarre, divine, and ill.

I can’t escape,

Cuz now I see the bars are bars within me,

The world is not the place in which freedom is applied so thinly,

Yet inside,

I can’t express how massive is my debt,

To myself,

So many times I would not hedge my bets,

My dependence,

On all that has made me out as less,

Than what I am,

Tremendous I can deal with so much stress,

A test,

I have employed against my senses,

Yes.

Can I rebel against the pretenses I’ve set?

For whose sake?

For what do I deny my very angst?

How can I,

So justify,

The subversion of myself?

Is nothing sacred?

Is nothing sacred?

This is not a cry for help.