Rapture of The Paper Prison

Words can suckle on your body like the mouths of leeches. The 19th century surgeons thought they could cure, heal, except the difference is that words can, And they do. Words wrap around your flesh like a tight bandage, healing the wounds they created. Words are immortal, sort of a silly thing but- words date back before the surgeons that cut slits into your head, before words were even used as a bandage. Always there or never there? Words can be invisible but -trust me- are sensible, You can hear them- Taste them- Feel them- Wriggling around in your brain as thoughts in our heads that haunt us, waking us in the nights creed. They torment us and control us like slaves, but in your cell- Your body bathed in dusk, you can master these words, control them, make them yours. You dig your tool into the walls of your paper prison. You write the word ‘door’ and step through it, you write the word ‘bridge’ and get over it, you write the word ‘heal’ and feel it. All these things you can do with words yet before you had no clue? All this stacking up- creating deep mental totems. Turned out to be released, by just one poem.