Chains

He's here...
Can't you see him?
Can't you hear his steps,
Falling slowly on the cold concrete; closer and closer, louder and louder,
As he advances towards your shivering figure?

You struggle against the chains that bind your wrists,
They hurt so badly that you only wish to take them off,
To be free of the agonizingly cold and rigid structures against your slowly breaking wrists.
His footsteps halt,
An ominous warning hints in the silent air surrounding your perspiring body.
You look up, only to see him,
Leaning against the chilly industrialist steel, with nonchalant indulgence on his face...
As he watches you, watching you feel pain, this is his hobby, though he inflicts the pain as well.

An eerie laughter fills the large space,
It's as if it comes from every direction of the reverberating halls.
You look for the cause of this sound, in curiosity.
Then no more than a mere whisper crawls over your shoulder,
"You'll never be rid of me..."
A tear tracks down your face, unrecognizable from the grime that already covers it.
His hand touches your shoulder, unmistakably sending a tremor up your pained spine.
Then it disappears, all of it.

He's gone...
A flash of wind and the breaking of stars from beneath the clouds,
And he is no longer.
Freedom is yours to be had, and your tears finally reach sunlight,
But only for a beautiful sorrow to be reflected in them.
Though, he still resides in your mind;
Torturing you with your sickly paranoia, worry that he might come back,
To finish the job he started so long ago.

Don't you realize?

You're still in those chains.