Dear Diary, I am trapped it’s as simple as that. Not in physical chains, no that would be too easy. It’s the game they love, they feed off of me not my music, and so they bind me with rules and the normality of routine. “PRACTICE ELAINE”, “PRACTICE, PRACTICE, PRACTICE; it is all I ever hear, I have no friends, no life – I feel misplaced. Life isn’t black and white but shades of grey…. at least for me anyway. I don’t even like playing the piano, not anymore; the very thing I gave my heart and soul to became the instrument of my torture. Who could have seen it coming? All I know now is that I am trapped inside a room feeling suspended millions of feet into the air with no way down. If I break free I will surely die, but if I don’t leave I won’t live another day. I am trapped in a cycle of their hate and misfortune. If only I could
Dear Diary, I am trapped its as simple as that. Not in physical
chains, no that would be too easy. Its the game they love, they
feed off of me not my music, and so they bind me with rules and the
normality of routine. PRACTICE ELAINE, PRACTICE, PRACTICE,
PRACTICE; it is all I ever hear, I have no friends, no life I feel
misplaced. Life isnt black and white but shades of grey. at least
for me anyway. I dont even like playing the piano, not anymore; the
very thing I gave my heart and soul to became the instrument of my
torture. Who could have seen it coming? All I know now is that I am
trapped inside a room feeling suspended millions of feet into the
air with no way down. If I break free I will surely die, but if I
dont leave I wont live another day. I am trapped in a cycle of
their hate and misfortune. If only I could play on my own time, and
not with him breathing down my neck. His breath, his breath is
rotten as his black soul, it smells of yesterdays lunch, a sour mix
of spoiled tuna and moldy bread. I hate him and everything about
him. They exploit me for money and personal gain music could have
been my escape But now I am trapped for good.
