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
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Author:
wren (
Offline) - Published: August 31st, 2025 23:00
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
- Users favorite of this poem: Demar Desu, sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments2
Great poem… amazing question
Very nicely written this poem has some great images and poses a very important question leaving the reader to reflect on it. Nicely done and a fave
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