Life is just a prison.

But why is it so easy to escape? Why is it so hard to stay? How did he manage to escape their harsh words? Their discrimination? Why did it feel like there were guns pointed to my head? Was it even my fault? Why am I here? Did I come here for freedom? Did I come here for a better opportunity? Or, did I come here to sleep in their bed of disregards? Why did all the petals die and leave only thorns? Why did their Egyptian blue eyes turn to blood? Am I the black sheep? Am I but a reflection? Am I just the ink of a marker on a mirror? Were the walls speaking to me? Did their dirt evaporate? Did his ocean melt? This is just a desert isn’t it? Are these snakes always two-faced? Am I dying from this tearful drought? 

How did he even get here? Is he just like me? Why does their protective artillery have blades? Why was the ricochet of inferiority constantly echoing? If they are the ones with the guns, why am I behind bars? Why am I forced to famine? Why was the sound of my stomach louder than my voice? Why wasn’t I heard? How did he survive? Why is yellow bad on me? Does my skin need to be shed? What was the sour smell outside? Could it be the smoke? Or, is it the stench of their sour tongues? Was this still the country that I called home? Did he feel safe? Was I safe? Did the screeching of the bed make me feel safe? Were the stars a lie? Did the lines tell the truth? 

Was God even real? Was there even an escape from this Hell? Are there multiple possibilities to break free? How did I escape? It was pretty easy. I remembered how…

Life is just a prison.