Clinging to the Chains That Bind

A poem written about how we hold on to all of our pain, because letting go is so much scarier.

We're friends with the voices, screaming inside,
the pain and the hatred, a cloak as we hide.
We're bound to the past, and bind ourselves to the chains,
of the scars on our heart, and soul, those infernal stains.

We're slaves to our agony, returning to the source,
trying to heal, but so done with that farce.
We're bound to repeat it, tick tock, back through time,
back to the familiar, returned to the site of the crime.

We're creatures of habit, habitual scarring,
Eternally fighting, and yet nothing is changing,
We're not moving past it, not moving on,
still shattered, in pieces, and yet scared when it's gone.

We're stuck in a rut, the path worn in the ground,
missing the silence, yet yearning for the sound.
We're damaged beyond reason, craving the fear,
of the wounds and the death, that we will find here.

We're comfortable with the familiar, an age old friend,
that we try to get rid of, but loathe in the end.
We're without our shield now, self laid bare,
no more excuses, now that we're there.

Something new, a healing start, now leaving us behind,
And so we run back, clinging to the chains that bind.

Author's Note

Any and all reviews welcome