I spend all day staring at the walls
Hoping the tropics will burst from the paper
In violent flashes of ultramarine wings
Fluttering about my head like a bassinet mobile
To allow me to see the fastidious brick beneath
I lay bound to my bed by forces I can’t explain
Let alone name
Drawn to the flaming centre
And feeling the grave-dust flow in and out in and out
With the indefinite swelling in my chest
You know it really wouldn’t hurt
To see those fiery wings in the walls
If only my head was pillowed
Not tickled by the sharp barb
Struggling to escape from the case
Poking against the dry matter of my brain
Trying to scratch an itch
I truly cannot name.
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142,152 Literary Works • 676,789 Reviews
beautiful piece! i really enjoyed the way you used imagery to really focus in on how the dust settles or how wings look or what the author is feeling. really good pacing and no grammar problems. one thing, maybe try to establish what the character is doing a little more because i was sort of confused in the beginning.
Thank you! Reading it back it definitely isn't clear, the speaker is lying on their bed looking at the wallpaper and thinking about freedom but I don't ever actually say it. Oops.