Past Complaints

My own small world, inside my own head --
I choose my own limit, my hands aren't tied.
The snow is falling softly now, I've fed
The waiting beast; down the slope, down I slide.

Into the mud on which frost is freezing,
One thought -- repressed -- seems about to emerge,
The fear contained within my heart seizing;
Rock bottom and I are nearly converged.

But the cause of my woes won't leave, I know,
'Til I beat the beast, 'til I pay his fee.
And my winter escape just goes to show,
I feel I'm never where I need to be.

Until, my dear, I learn my place is here:
The present, where future is rarely clear.