into the retrofit past - turn the corner. the voice in my head barks its selfless orders and the nylon leash gets a little shorter and i wonder who the invisible bondsman is. over shoulder, checking to see if anyone is watching, waiting for the [bad word] that [bad word]  against the bonds of what i cannot do, what i cannot show, what i cannot lose. and i know that i will remain shut in, because the metal door is locked from the inside. it's just me and myself against the world. it's just a flat out refusal. and so my superiority and privelege lies dashed to pieces on the cold, stone floor, mixed with the [bad word] from what is no longer my freedom my violence my laziness my [bad word] freedom mine. that freedom which so many love. the freedom i choose to pursue no more. and i see how perverse that "freedom" is. the fists and blood money stay in my hip pockets. and i show that my hands aren't inherently violent. and i realise how beautiful these chinese handcuffs are.