Escape

Bruises coat your

Tongue, your fingers they

Tremble in the night’s sky. You

Press your leg toward the moon, almost as

Though she’s though your

Soul and as though she was your very best friend.

Tears, they formed a pond, the one you can

No longer make your perfect

Escape from. Your yelp has gotten to

Be overly, overtly muffled, by the

Noose that the prosperous

Peasant placed. Those yellow bricks have

Faded and blended away and into the tar colored

Pavement. Your song, had yet to be sung, to be heard by the

Ones you’ve never touched.

The whispers of the day, should

Have never once been cried.