Prison
by Paul Vincent

They keep me, locked inside
What I think, they confide
I try to trust, but in too deep
Before I lust, or get the jeep
I swander hours, days years
While my parents are out having beers
I'm a prisoner in my own home
Or is this my home? I sit alone
I wonder what life would have been like
Had my parents been rich, and much to make
But what if I was a prisoner of their
As I sit here, poeting, on this cold wooden chair