There are voices inside my head,
Crying out loud, hoping to be freed.
A silent tear falls on my bed,
listening to these quiet pleas.
Lips sewn shut, my eyes open wide,
A silent scream, my body, paralysed in cold fright.
Looking up, unto Death, I realize I am to be his bride,
And then a smile graces my lips, for its a peaceful sight.
They already killed my soul,
When they stole my innocence.
Those four walls, my sole witness,
Still continue their watchful silence.
I don't like this silence,
I detest it.
Yet there's blood here and everywhere,
And hence I am left no choice but to continue it.
They have silenced me, in the only way they thought mattered,
Yet they couldn't silence what matters most,
For they have been blind (of the voices),
Sunk deep in their proud boast.
These voices have kept the fire burning,
The fire that would even have the walls screaming.
It's the fire of rebellion, of hope and of vengeance,
Running through my veins, just beneath the surface, patiently waiting.
I cherish these voices, they provide me some solace,
They have kept me company in these loud silences,
They hold the key to my freedom,
They hold the key to my vengeance....
YOU ARE READING
Dystopia In My Little Utopia
Poetry"Within every dystopia, there's a little utopia." -Margaret Atwood A collection of poems, some from personal experience, some just feelings.
