To be Titled

gnawed all the ropes the has womb created cut the strings eyes sewed beneath my skin sold my box of treasures and I Am free you call your home a square-like dome in the center of a million streets you call your bed the drug of choice, as well as your tv well sorry son, I am so sorry your body will not be born for I am free I am loose from the tragic noose I let my internal being become my lap of luxury a haven in my brain a canvas that is my skin the bed that is my soul riches that are the views I see. I am no magician or satanic vex from your illusive below I am just free in my own wicked perception.