Confined by the wills of our Oppressors

We are taught never to give up,

treating the world as a playing field for our hopes and dreams,

trading them like pokemon cards to the best bidder.

We are given hope in the form of everlasting friendship

but only after we've sold our souls to the ones we love,

do we fall into the hands of malice and jealousy.

We are sold like candles in a wax factory,

molded the same and sculpted with purpose,

and only after we have matured, are we sold to work for others.

We are the living dead in a barren wasteland,

finding shelter in the trenches of dead desire.

-And then it is all taken away.

We are punished by people who think they're doing us good,

who think a lesson is being learned.

And it is all for naught.

Dreams crushed like the butts of cigarettes under the boots of those who wish to do us no harm.

Confined by the wills of our oppressors,

we are forced to break bonds that should never be broken,

and friendships are lost to the dark voids of our once beating hearts.

The tears that we shed are the streams of our regret,

clearing away the ash and soot of our blackened memories.

And how we hate with vindictive fury,

the spoils of our passion.

We wish the world was set back to stone,

where simple was all that we had known.

At least that's what I wish sometimes,

when in my life there is nothing left but blackness.