prisoners
The cars race on, driving full through day and night, zooming, screeching, swaying past deep thought and pinprick light.
We are but prisoners of the words in our mind.
Maybe they would never know, even if you lay an ear to the head, of all the words that could be written, all the phrases which could remain unsaid.
We are but prisoners of the words in our mind.
I burnt my thoughts one day past, looking straight into the sun, their charred remains smoking and dwindling, but telling me to run.
We are but prisoners of the words in our mind.
One word cannot define anything, yet can define so much, as the thoughts to play in cavern space are expectant of the rush.
We are but prisoners of the words in our mind.
They may be kept under lock and key
But float and scream in mine.
No Comments