Rebellion

old memories,

painful and sweet,

slip through my fingers

like water

pouring down a cold

mountain steam;

life is sadness;

I refuse

to be a part of the sadness

anymore,

I may go down,

but I will not go

quietly,

nor shall I make it easy

for those

who ensure

it all stays within

these little yellow lines,

confined

to bitter confrontations

and final thoughts

of death and hate.

.

.