I built myself
a prison,
my address: flesh
and bones.
I built myself
a prison,
some walls to call
my home.
Inside: a ceiling
painted black,
a fireplace
so cold.
I built myself
a prison,
shackled my heart
with thought,
and squeezed and
showed my soul
into a tiny hole;
to cover all
the bases, blindfolded
my eyes so,
although the gate was open
there was no place
to go.
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 8:43 AM UTC
I built myself
a prison,
my address: flesh
and bones.
I built myself
a prison,
some walls to call
my home.
Inside: a ceiling
painted black,
a fireplace
so cold.
I built myself
a prison,
shackled my heart
with thought,
and squeezed and
showed my soul
into a tiny hole;
to cover all
the bases, blindfolded
my eyes so,
although the gate was open
there was no place
to go.
