The Cage of my mind

The Cage of my mind

I look into the mirror of my mind,

where old fears twist into new chains.

I speak harsh truths to myself,

each word cutting a little deeper.

What am I doing to my own head?

I am both the builder and the broken work,

the one who creates chaos in the quiet parts

of my own thoughts.

Every thought feels like a fight,

a constant attack on hope and peace.

I color my doubts with self-blame,

tying every small light with knots of regret.

In this inner maze, every reflection

feels like a locked room, every whisper,

a silent judgement.

I walk these cold hallways carefully,

teetering between pain and numbness,

each step a quiet giving in to my own hurt.

I carry the weight of my own voice,

making rooms in my mind with no escape,

an endless cycle of self-torture,

I am both the keeper and the prisoner

of my own making.

And in the quiet of the night,

I ask again, over and over

What am I doing to my own head?

Maybe if I tear down these walls,

I can quiet the storm

I create with every troubled thought.

This is what I do to myself

I destroy my happy thoughts.

I question everything with what if?

Why? I do it because I am me.