These innumerable cells I am comprised of illuminate the truth:
This body is my own trap. I am my own cage.
I embody the cells of a prison. My very skin a traitor. Trapped.
Trapped within my own dusty flesh and brittle bones.
Trapped inside a society veiled in time.
Trapped inside a world not home.

I am both the prisoner and the jailer.
Yet somehow, my only view is in the direction of looking out-
to freedom, truth, justice, home.

These locked lips and strict tongue sew themselves in knots,
keeping me, the soul, from attempting to make escape.
But alas, the conundrum: the jail, I must accept, is my only means of transcendence.

The skin I am within is both tool and folly. Beyond imperfect.
How is freedom to ever be achieved through such a flawed system?
However am I to break free from this?

Will not any other help? Give me some shred of hope?
Believe in my effort, my journey to oneness?
Remind me I am not alone?
That you are trying to figure a way out - a way to - too?
Please, oh dear soul,
do not leave me out in the cold,
desperately left to shrivel inside this machine I am forced to call home.
Come back, oh please,
let us both destroy the system from inside out-
awaken ourselves,
and once again become free.