Posted on

Escape from the Morbid Circus.

Dependent, controlled,
hung by a noose
fashioned by your puppet strings.
Gather ’round,
watch my dance of death throes,

forever hanging,
swinging,
gazing into the abyss
below.

Just let me go.

I’ll learn to fly before hitting
bottom or accept my fate,
find some solace.
Seems there is no
other way.

Made my own grave
just running in place.
Failure secured in inaction.

Locked in, screaming
till the throat ruptures,
all to kick the soul awake,
shake off the numbness
of an anesthetized will.

I’m not dying here.
Nothing is etched in stone.
Fate is what we make it.

Pushing through
the pins and needles.
Life aches like a funny bone,
though I’m not laughing.
If your world has answers,
they are not to questions
I’m asking.

I’ll make my own way,
find my own place,
I won’t play the slave forever.

I’ll learn to fly,
to rise above
your death,
to true liberty,
live in integrity
far above this morbid circus.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s