Mouthful

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…