This is ourselves under pressure

Any way you try to twist the story I still feel trapped, trapped, trapped. Like I am de-railing everything I hoped for. But maybe that train was never on its way. The alternative is black nothingness or toolboxes or the Land of the Misfit toys. I promised to commit with mi corazon entero and plead with heaven to shine some light on my conondrum. For so long I balked and resisted and pouted and wept and then suddenly I just slipped into his pocket. I've been fighting to get out ever since but what if that's where I belong?