Snare of My Creation

Sometimes the very thing holding you in bondage and pain...is yourself.

Dry drops of red stain the floor,

With hushed screams and silenced voices,

Bruised legs and feet run to the door,

But fail to escape by the snare of their choices.

Author's Note

I may or may not extend this...I'm unsure at the moment. I've never been a fan of shot poetry, but I'm at a writer's block lol