Imagine
Imagine that one day you wake, tied by chains to a chair.
Across from you stands your killer.
They smile a lifeless smile; their smile is only for their amusement.
Somehow, the killer has set up cameras, to let you watch...
Watch the life you once lived, a life where everyone exists without you.
One you used to have, but no longer.
Instead, sits a replacement.
You're constantly made to view the world without you, but the copy's.
To...
Live by the rules that this killer has governed for your eyes.
They suppress your sleep; keep you tied even in this state.
As much as you want to get up, you're bound, kept until they say:
When it's time to finally get up.
The longer this goes on, the more you wish for it all to end.
You hope for a day that will come that gives you freedom,
And so you hold onto that hope, you choose to stay strong...
but for how long?
Days pass,
And weeks come and go.
Eventually, years begin to reach their cycle's end.
You're still tied, bound, and controlled by this killer.
That same lifeless smile feels more powerful than before,
With each passing day.
For years you've endured this chained seat,
You start to lose strength, start to lose hope.
As much as you want to fight, time has given power to someone else...
Something else; the one that watches you, the one that wants you dead.
Now,
One day the killer lets you free, so you run.
You run as far as you can, but in your mind you know...
Know that the killer is watching, following,
The cameras are still in place, observing.
The copy of you is gone, and you fill the spot once more,
And you've become nothing more than a toy to the killer.
They allows you to live your life,
But every so often, you wake up again, captured in chains,
Then you're free once more.
At no point do you know when the killer will actually enact their deed,
But you fear it. You begin to see every way they might kill you...
Will it be a car crash?
Will you get shot?
Will they torture?
Will others suffer the same?
Or are you truly alone...
You want to ask for help, but you're afraid...
Afraid that the killer will kill you if you do, so remain quiet you do.
You begin to suffer silently, trapped, alone, hopeless.
With how many times you've been set free,
And how many times you've been captured again,
Hope becomes nothing more than a joke, so you become reckless.
Days go in a stupor. Sometimes it's only alcohol.
Most of the times it's only alcohol, yet you want to reach...
Reach as far away from the killer as possible, so other toxins enter.
It sustains you momentarily, but you know the killer is always near.
So every time you return, your fear becomes stronger than before.
You devise another plan, so you reach out,
Without a care of the killer's reaction.
Friends try to comfort, but your story just sounds far-fetched to them.
"The killer never existed," they say. You'd been there the whole time.
Part of the killer's game you begin to suspect.
So you become sick of the game, and want to escape.
You start to think of how you might want to kill you...
Will you crash your car?
Will you shoot yourself?
Will it lead to torture?
It doesn't matter if others suffer the same,
Because you're truly alone.
The days you're free become hopeful,
Not because the killer has set you free, but because you return to those escapes.
One where the killer cannot reach you, one where the pain is gone.
People see a change in your attitude, but they don't see it
For the better for you...
Because they are selfish... in your eyes... because they aren't a prisoner.
Not like you. They only want to see the happy side of you,
They don't care if you're happy or not, they just want an act.
And you think, "the killer has owned me for too long,"
What does it take to get back into your own hands, and not the killer?
So you imagine, and dream of...
That car crash that ends it imediately...
That bullet you'll shoot yourself with...
There won't be torture...
Others no longer matter...
Because you're truly alone.
Everyone else only sees the days when the killer is not around,
But you...
You're done with their game...
You need freedom, at least that's what your mind thinks.
Across from you stands your killer.
They smile a lifeless smile; their smile is only for their amusement.
Somehow, the killer has set up cameras, to let you watch...
Watch the life you once lived, a life where everyone exists without you.
One you used to have, but no longer.
Instead, sits a replacement.
You're constantly made to view the world without you, but the copy's.
To...
Live by the rules that this killer has governed for your eyes.
They suppress your sleep; keep you tied even in this state.
As much as you want to get up, you're bound, kept until they say:
When it's time to finally get up.
The longer this goes on, the more you wish for it all to end.
You hope for a day that will come that gives you freedom,
And so you hold onto that hope, you choose to stay strong...
but for how long?
Days pass,
And weeks come and go.
Eventually, years begin to reach their cycle's end.
You're still tied, bound, and controlled by this killer.
That same lifeless smile feels more powerful than before,
With each passing day.
For years you've endured this chained seat,
You start to lose strength, start to lose hope.
As much as you want to fight, time has given power to someone else...
Something else; the one that watches you, the one that wants you dead.
Now,
One day the killer lets you free, so you run.
You run as far as you can, but in your mind you know...
Know that the killer is watching, following,
The cameras are still in place, observing.
The copy of you is gone, and you fill the spot once more,
And you've become nothing more than a toy to the killer.
They allows you to live your life,
But every so often, you wake up again, captured in chains,
Then you're free once more.
At no point do you know when the killer will actually enact their deed,
But you fear it. You begin to see every way they might kill you...
Will it be a car crash?
Will you get shot?
Will they torture?
Will others suffer the same?
Or are you truly alone...
You want to ask for help, but you're afraid...
Afraid that the killer will kill you if you do, so remain quiet you do.
You begin to suffer silently, trapped, alone, hopeless.
With how many times you've been set free,
And how many times you've been captured again,
Hope becomes nothing more than a joke, so you become reckless.
Days go in a stupor. Sometimes it's only alcohol.
Most of the times it's only alcohol, yet you want to reach...
Reach as far away from the killer as possible, so other toxins enter.
It sustains you momentarily, but you know the killer is always near.
So every time you return, your fear becomes stronger than before.
You devise another plan, so you reach out,
Without a care of the killer's reaction.
Friends try to comfort, but your story just sounds far-fetched to them.
"The killer never existed," they say. You'd been there the whole time.
Part of the killer's game you begin to suspect.
So you become sick of the game, and want to escape.
You start to think of how you might want to kill you...
Will you crash your car?
Will you shoot yourself?
Will it lead to torture?
It doesn't matter if others suffer the same,
Because you're truly alone.
The days you're free become hopeful,
Not because the killer has set you free, but because you return to those escapes.
One where the killer cannot reach you, one where the pain is gone.
People see a change in your attitude, but they don't see it
For the better for you...
Because they are selfish... in your eyes... because they aren't a prisoner.
Not like you. They only want to see the happy side of you,
They don't care if you're happy or not, they just want an act.
And you think, "the killer has owned me for too long,"
What does it take to get back into your own hands, and not the killer?
So you imagine, and dream of...
That car crash that ends it imediately...
That bullet you'll shoot yourself with...
There won't be torture...
Others no longer matter...
Because you're truly alone.
Everyone else only sees the days when the killer is not around,
But you...
You're done with their game...
You need freedom, at least that's what your mind thinks.
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