as modern as i am,
i'm still inflicting
the wounds of the past
just as easily as
i wish myself away entirely.
and when motion is stunted,
the end of the feelings are blunted,
securing my place
in the space that
negates incentive to walk
away completely.
gorging freely on
the complimentary fun,
but not cautious enough
to free myself from the chains
of your schizophrenic refrain;
regurgitating this fight all over again.