Underneath the covers, a bed of constriction,
swathed in delicately torn sheets
in imposed slumber; I cannot escape.
My prison bars are paper thin:
sentences set down by a judge’s pen.
Underneath the covers, concealed thoughts,
I think, I speak, I rage.
You confine my existence,
you break my body; crack my spine;
a car crash of rips and dog-eared joints.
Parole me, give me liberty,
open these prison doors and set me free.
Underneath the covers I am captive.
Some would bar me from society,
Others, burn me at the stake.
Remove my shackles, release me unto the world,
liberate me and I’ll set you free.
Underneath the covers my voice is still;
my sentence of confinement stifles my words.
Open me up and let me scream:
so my words, my sentences,
can set you free.
Yamesh wishes to remain anonymous. You can read their previous pieces on FVR below: