The Mask

picture credit: http://www.deviantart.com/art/handcuffs-123884835

The handcuffs slip into place,

and I walk through the corridors of my mind,

closing the doors to freedom of self,

locking the door to my restless spirit,

then tuning my thoughts to those wished by others for me,

hide the soul and the life-force that’s coursing through my veins

and is rebelling against the chains of restrictions and convention

but is unable to tear free from a captor of unknown description.

My heartbeat is slow, my limbs have slipped into the pointless pose of submission

that as the mask of quiet demeanour slips into place,

my eyes are dull, my lips utter automated responses

in this script of captivity and death.