Eyelids were half close, half resistingto see the sun leak from curtains.
The thought of blankets becoming yearn and I knit stiff limbs into the fabric sounds appalling,but legs twitch and figures gasps air.
My body wants to fight. Not with you, but agenst you
How foolish could I be.
I gave you the bolt cutters, But instead of cutting chains, you cut feathers from my wings.
What could this happen?
I hate how you put me in this place where sun burns sight But, You don’t even care,do you?
This was a game,to see how far the lies could gountil they collapsed.
How can I fly with you pluckingout my feathers? I can’t, but as I crash to the ground I will learn how to runand it will be better than flying.
About the Creator
Rachel Wilson
Writing as been a hobby of my for awhile now. I love creating poetry, short stories and novels that range from death, monsters, horror, mystery to love, romance, friendships.
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