vices binding my soul; ever complying
perfect obedience; never denying
i'm silent no matter how terrifying
i'm on the verge of tears but never crying
my lungs only produce a quiet sighing
i'm screaming final breaths but never dying
and all the while my pain's intensifying
my wings fledged and outstretched but never flying
i try to speak but there's no point replying
i'm done with all your endless justifying
you could've changed, but you're just never trying
the 11 syllables thing is part of the poem. you get lured into thinking it will flow nicely like an iambic pentameter, but then you reach the end of the line and you feel like you have to interrupt yourself to maintain the rhythm. that's because you do. that's how it's meant to be read. the interruption is part of the poem.
you can read this in multiple ways. either one person struggling against another, or two people arguing.
