The Graveyard

There, I live. Buried under tons of depression, fear, anxiety, doubts, guilt and sorrow. Far enough you could see my name carved in italic and bold, and it never mattered how it’d look closer. THE FREEDOM, they called it. Whenever I tried to escape that FREEDOM, the jailer, or better said, the jailers, poured more and more of FREEDOM over the already existing tons that weighed heavily, heavier than I can endure. I gave up. By then, I found me burying myself.

I couldn't endure and I had no power to escape. But I ought to. I reached a settlement, I’d dig, at night, a tunnel through that load, till I find a beam of light. I held each and every molecule of courage. I learned not to make assumptions nor to expect, though I expected much and I didn't know why.

Years passed, more tons were poured, and I dug much more. I never gave up on this trail and I shall never do. I’ll escape from that death land, and its inhabitants that sanctify nothing but the graveyards they built.