in my head,

words with myself

and everybody else,

words which penetrate and slip

through the thin veil

cloaking this world

and another,

another I’ve created

within four cranial walls.

Syllables scream,

each one pulling at the lips

of my inner voice,

a voice desperate

to be heard,

not churned

into empty statements,

packaged produce

of a world

hellbent on securing

social conformity.

In this other world,

my inner self,

intrinsically me,

is free,


to dance,

to sing

and live

what we call fantasy,

nothing’s tangible.

Through a fog

standards and loved ones

have blown over,

billowing cruelly

from mouths

which profess they know you, truly,

from politicians who say they care

and strangers who like to stare.

My words,

my voice


until no longer heard

except from within,

my four cranial walls.



Image credit. 

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