The Submissive Death
I’ve been inculcated into a culture of submission, I’ve lost who I was, or maybe I never got to know that person. The person I do know, holds onto fear with an iron grip, I can’t let go. I think I want to, but what lies beyond my beautiful prison? Violence? Rejection? Loneliness? I don’t fear the latter two, for my prison has brought me years of solitude, and my thoughts reject me regularly. I’ve come to embrace the narrative of my mind.
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