- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Iron Maiden
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Not to be able to express myself
With prose, story, or rhyme
Would be equal to being
Placed in an Iron Maiden
And then buried
Under the weight and pressure
Of a prison built for torture.
Alone with my solitary thoughts
Circling nowhere around ears and eyes
Trying to escape to
The opening of my mouth,
While the lucky inmates above me
Express their emotions freely
In screams of agony and pain.
Sigh…
The joy
They don’t even know
They have.
If you’ve killed me dead
By simply taking paper and pen
Then don’t waste good resources.
A single bullet, strategically placed
To the back of my head,
Could at least
Exit through my lips,
Freeing the words of my soul.
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