Upon my return to earth

I find myself disillusioned by the feeling of pavement, it's hard to accept the bondages of responsible life after a weekend of flying, Sliding the manacle back on your own wrist over scars indicated years of bondage, accepting the world on your back, knowing it could be removed if only you finally decided to let go of it. Clutching at the ropes, trying yourself up into work, stress, sickness. Breathing deeply to readjust yourself to smog, scanning the skylines making friends with your jail, your dependency, your drug. Knowing the span of time so thick it obscures the single opportunity, and yet you do not give up. Freedom one Weekend at a time.