i am straining at these bonds, with rope taut against tender, pale flesh
small cries and thrashing, lashing, gasping, a struggle that doesn't stop and i am just
so
tired.
family ties bind me and i
tear my skin as i try to untie them with the jagged edges of my fingernails.
from beyond the mist i hear broken, breathy, desperate cries which echo my own.
i have an airy, floating feeling,
caught in the surreal,
pulled with tight chords
towards the inevitable fate of all writers,
falling to my knees, screaming, kicking,
dragged through the dried rice on the cold,
concrete floor.