I thought I was free but freedom closed in on me until, finally, I noticed.
I thrashed around with limbs and ears and head crashing. This went on for months, until acceptance of doom settled mercilessly within. I sat there, sick and hopeless, unmoving in my prison.
The worst of it: I had willingly stepped into the trap, but I couldn't simply step out again.
I could either die or howl, so I howled. I cried out for deliverance. That's when the tiny pinholes appeared. I tasted those delicious light beams, and I thirsted for more. I cried out again, "More light! More light!"
Carefully selected tools worked together to free me.
Now, finally, I emerge but my muscles have seized from lack of use. Gradually, they loosen and I begin to move again--to live. My mind's been damaged, too, yet clarity returns like dark clouds slowly parting. But I wonder: am I free, or am I in a larger box now?