freedom paralyzes,

some time in early 2002

freedom paralyzes,
like an icy cold fear.

my freedom feels like winter.

it binds me to my complacency,
and force-feeds me choices that I don't want to make.

in the face of freedom,
I crack like a cheap vase,
filled with the ashes of the skeletons in my closet.

(my skeletons? they must be: who else would keep them around?)

I cast about, searching for the key to the door called spring;
to the time when I can look out and smile at life.

when the choices are made by me,
unfettered and unchained.

but my freedom still chills.
and absolute responsibility kills slowly,

like December frost
on a starless night.