Entrapment

by silentwords

  • Poetry
  • Lyrical

Published January 24, 2012

A blade of ice scrapes,
the length of my back,
radiating the cold throughout,
my feeble limbs.
Shackles sprout like roots,
and grip,
at the raw flesh,
of my ankles.
Closing in tighter,
are the walls,
of my sandpaper throat,
allowing nothing,
to pass in,
or out.
My eyes try to scream,
what my trembling lips can’t,
but no one sees,
what you’re taking from
me.

Comments & reviews · 1


I think the best thing about making it into the quote generator is when nobody tells you, so one day you're just scrolling and voila, some phenomenally inane thing that crawled out of your dying synapses and immediately regretted being born the second it made contact with the air has been archived for all time. Or worse, a remark of only average inanity. Never tell me when you've put me in the generator. Pride-tinged regret just doesn't taste the same without the spice of surprise.
— SirenCymbaline