Epistles for my thorned metaphors

(?)

holding all the culpability on me. which ought not to be me.

prosaic locus where i cry havoc and live. all i can do is to sit tight and behave.

holding my mouth to shut up. cry like dumb but i will stand up.

trying to ascend from the thick-chained. verily my life is perfectly perilous and fucked up.

i over-reach too much of attention. but they drown me in depth of ocean.