Poetry by Ophelia

Chained Freedom

I feel I have wronged my whole existence,

because whenever I feel hurt in my self,

I drown in this overwhelming feeling,

of loath and depravity.

My heart is fragile,

and if the heart is the same as the mind,

I am convinced very much,

that I am broken beyond repair.

Some might say I have gone insane,

some will say I am just being dramatic,

an attention seeker,

a pathetic comfort seeker.

But I say I am <i>going</i> insane,

because I still haven't but soon will,

which I feel in my whole being as I crawl and writh to find the last pieces of my sanity,

but in vain for they're smaller than grain.

If I say my heart hurts,

that would be a serious lie,

because what sensation of hurt will remain,

when the nerves have been paralysed often.

Now I only feel suffocation,

a drastic change in my painless self,

which felt pain in the early days of rain,

but now it's all drought, all drought.

Suffocating day by day,

unable to let out the last cry,

unable to make the last movement,

before being iced to death.

Is death better to a self,

is it painful or painless unknown I so often wonder,

bound and shackled by the chains of dependence, 

to a heart and mind which is forgetting day by day

—what is freedom and what is joy.

© Ophelia