I’ve been so obsessed with prisons lately,
Like who invented the dammed prisons,
And why would someone invent such.
But then as time passes by I’ve learnt a lot,
I keep learning a lot about prisons,
And more often than not I’ve realised,
That a prison, is just a term, for rehab centres,
For people with complex conditions.
But I was nowhere near a special case,
I had no complex condition or compulsion,
All I was, all I ever was, was a woman in love,
Yet the only thing I got was a prison sentence.
A quarter’s sentence for a crimeless party,
For being the one who had seen him trapped,
I had wanted to free him from his demons,
And I did, but for a price that left me with scars.
This relationship was supposed to be good for us,
But it wasn’t, or maybe it was just too good,
It was to be the safe haven that the both of us ran to,
But who’s to determine the hell that came with it,
The fires that never consumed, just scorched to insanity,
The one place that our freedom didn’t have a price,
But it was all just for him, since I was still trapped,
Because that union turned out to be his holy grail.
I was so obsessed with his perfection,
With his grace, focus and intelligence,
His stature, beliefs, and sexy imperfections,
That I became so stupidly entranced by him,
That I forgot to see that which was right there,
That which would later doom me to the inevitable,
Because the simple approval from heavenly hell,
Saw the cost of my “signature” become “the dawn”.
The new dawn. Everyone looks forward to a dawn,
Because dusk is not a pretty place to live in,
I never really understood why people got excited,
But after an exclusive experience with the dusk,
I became conversant with all of it, I understood.
And my dawn, it was beautiful at first, so beautiful,
But it turns out it was just the calm before the storm,
A storm which I’d later sworn myself out of. Never again.
I was a prisoner of love who was in love,
And my salvation was not going to come anytime soon,
Because somehow within the hell he subjected me to,
I still found myself attracted to him, and my heart,
My tiny blood pumping organ had been repurposed,
And the worst part was that I had no control,
I had it all but I also didn’t have it all, at the same time,
The curse of a marred beautiful soul, the art of pain.
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