There are hands clawing at the backs of my eyes
Do the voices in my head dream of freedom?
Of splatter on cement,
Of cold wind blowing through me
Do I dream of freedom?
There is a roaring behind the hinges of my jaw
Left and right, upper middle
There is an ache behind my eyes
Clawing, gnashing
Eating?
I wake up to less of me each morning
Perhaps I am consuming myself
Freedom