The key is not for me,
No happiness there shall be,
I do not deserve to be free,
Bleeding, broken, and bound to a tree.
They freedom, thou dost surrender,
Going through life devoid of splendor,
Feeling like nothing more than a pretender,
At the very worst a repeat offender.
The sun is there, hidden behind black clouds,
Their silver lining is its burial shroud,
Tearing through and breaking their vows,
Into the depths beneath the bowels.
Here I am left, crying in the rain,
Wondering what life is like without any pain.
Ryan S. Kinsgrove