Chains

He lies on his semen stained mattress

Sickly womb light stumbles through his curtains

Casting pallid symphonies on his gaunt facade

In his mind

He sees a falcon

Drawing a muddy streak through the azure sky

He longs to be like that falcon

To be truly free

Not chained to his murderer

His silent assassin

The falcon descends

Its prey in sight

The pale man reaches for his belt

A tear kissing his cheek

© Stuart Buck

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