They say your skull is protection,
They're walls to you keep you safe,
But I know this to be false.
My skull is a prison,
It is ever closing, shrinking walls that refuse to release,
My mind is a prison,
My skull is the lock,
Inside this cage of horrors
live the nightmares you cannot imagine,
Live the monsters under your bed,
Inside your closet.
My skull is like the soundproof walls of a recording studio,
The brain inside is a wicked DJ,
But the sounds it produces are the echoes of venomous voices,
They bounce off the walls and repeat- repeat- repeat
Like a broken record,
Scratched by the claws of these demons.
There are no sounds that can seep in-
Only those voices of the ghosts of my past.
My skull is no protection,
My skull is a cage,
And I am the song bird,
Begging for freedom.
YOU ARE READING
My Friend Ana
PoetryPoems, rants, and thoughts about eating disorders, depression, abuse, personal struggles, and many other subjects that society dawns as "taboo".
