Freedom

Black and white blur to grey in this haze of non-existence… this steady humming life flows smoothly down my throat, medicates my need for greatness, numbing my ambition to a dull acceptance. Yesterday becomes tomorrow, the unrecognized thud of passing days- there’s really no difference between them anyway. This small stack of words, restless papers shift towards liberty, a strange mix of intricate reality. Would they understand? Could my words slide into them, resonate through beating hearts, settle into the folds of their life without being forgotten? These pages of my soul twist and burn in my hands, aching for freedom from the fears which bind them. My failure is inevitable, you see. This from the burned out street corner poets, crumpling the sheets in their dirty hands, resenting my naivety— why should I still hope, when all their dreams are dead?