Solitary

The world is like a jail cell,
God the jail keeper,
People our inmates.
When we have a happy moment,
It’s like the time inmates get outside,
And when we’re lonely and sad,
Like when they have solitary confidement.
And suicide is our way,
Of giving God the finger,
Until we realize it’s his version,
Of the electric chair.
And any pain we inflict on our wrists,
Are just like the shackles and handcuffs,
That bind the inmates every day.
God put us here so he could play
Superior.

When we cut ourselves
It numbs the feeling
Of being captive
A feeling that for one moment
Your life is in your hands again,
Until you realize
You’re really just in solitary again,
And God laughs as he shackles your hands.