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 struggle that won't come. 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 horrific runoff from what is no longer my freedom my violence my laziness my fucked 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.