Chained to the Poetry

A way to be indirectly direct

No one knows my identity unless I want them to

The voices in my head

that pound throughout the day

can finally be squashed as I transfer them

out of my head

and onto the screen.

The feeling

of something that was once a symbol of death

coming to life

and I become the vessel,

the essence of that life

which gratifies an empowering lust

that was unknown within my body and soul

until I became a slave to my own

words