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The Captives

They come at night.

I awake to the pounding, then the crack as hinges tear away and the clap of the door as it falls.

They're here now. In the room with me. Even though I can't see them.

They yell, chant and scream my name in a million different accusatory sonnets.

Dirges of some hellish lamentation for what I've done and will not do.

Voices like a thousand gnats in an amorphous swarm, one impossibly dissonant hivemind that reverberates and echoes off these walls of mine.

My pulse quickens in time with the horrid symphony, shattered soliloquies of self worth.

They won't be silenced, these enemies of my own design.

They will not be destroyed, these cognitive constructs.

They mean to take me captive, not by brandishing blade our flourishing firearm.

They use their phantom fleeting nature, their flitting into and out of existence, to make captive my mind and soul.

I have but one recourse.

One way to see them for what they are.

One option to turn the tables.

To take captive every thought.

I bind them in ink and pulp.

I freeze them in liquid crystal display key by key. Pixel by pixel.

They are rendered helpless. They are laid bare.

For when I behold them in stasis as if caught unawares, I see them for what they are.

I examine them for their true name and origin.

I interrogate their characters.

They are sealed in a digitized prison, watched over by a blinking sentry.

I need not be their prisoner. I am their warden.

To take every thought captive and to make it obedient is not impossible.

It is a constant struggle for control.

One made all the easier when they are written, their very composition a display of their sentencing.

Taken prisoner. Until indeed, they are compliant.

2 Corinthians 10: 5

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