My mind is a prison
A well lived in space
My thoughts a collision
No order in place
A wreckage has risen
Broken pieces to replace
A rather violent existence
Hidden by my face
My boldness lingers
My confidence hesitates
But the silence brings us
together as inmates
There are no bars
Or doors that need keys
No standing brick walls
No need for these
I feel trapped in this dark
Like a rat or a sheep
I feel responsible in part
For I’ve sewn what i reap
In a ditch or a chasm
Where my echo rings loud
I wretch and I spasm
In madness I drown
About the Creator
Daniel Oconnor
My passion is words, when I write it usually takes no more than half an hour to bring to life what I’m thinking... if I leave it inside my head i obsess over the thoughts and they transform into something I can’t express...
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The Devil's Cut
“Comrade, finally you’re awake.” The voice was smooth, sensual. A flickering incandescent bar was all that lit the white, sterile room. All Vladimir remembered was everything going black. He tried to move his arms and found them strapped to the gurney.
By Matthew J. Fromm5 days ago in Fiction
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