An end, a question and a rope,
A compliment from bitter piece of soap,
A wooden welcome of the hangman’s smile,
A shy but open door to mind’s exile.
I see these things and wonder if I’m mad
Because it would be just too bad
For all of you with questions, wants and wishes
The chains, the claws, the shackles and short leashes,
With dreams built on my back
And hopes constructed from my sweat.
And for a second I am free,
And for a moment I can breathe,
But then it passes and I’m trapped
In freezing cold of fake contempt.
I wade through depths of sniggering touches
Across the fields of your clichés
And all I see is just an end,
And all I do is question my intent.
I could’ve begged for little hope
But proudly I choose a rope
I hang and smile with a mouthful of soap…
