Freedom is Slavery to Sleep.

Final moments with little space
for breathing. Draw in the
moonbeams that melt
the frost on the windowpane.

The choking fumes of
disinfectant seem to
evolve into a
delicate fragrance.
Oh, the sweetness of
asphyxiation.

Time knows no boundaries
and neither does it's
whore called Sleep. Where does
the morning end and night begin?

Why do shiny droplets of
red, green and blue
bring me my emotions
in great tides?
What sugary moons do
I consume?

The seas of fret follow these
vivid tablets. They follow
like a long line of
children, etherised into
vapid oblivion.

Night and day because the
same, dull, grey
time. It does not change.
Identical, the slush of
clouds in the sky
everyday.

Blotches of ink stain my
fingers and the crawling,
wretched stench of
ammonia drugs the air.

What illness is this?

Shivering, I wrap cloaks of
numbness around my shoulders.
I dare not to bare myself
raw again. The colourless
opiates still seep
through the old bandages.

Loneliness has no benefactor,
except a yearning to be
the original sin.

What sense is there in
conformity? Community
has no bearing on my
soul compass.

I follow nobody now.
Not my angel nor my
Doctor. I am a free spirit

and how freedom
hurts like Hell.

.

one word.... WOW
i think it should have a phymong pattern tho, but i still think its good, also it could be a song, but just a few touchups here and there
GREAT JOB THO!!!