Six Words

[meadzbabyy]

Have you ever burned with the need to get out?
To scream so loud the silence morphed to life,
only to find your voice herded into
a throat-shaped cage that drills you to follow
not your will, but a map they’ve already set,
etched in the marrow of this dying today.

Your tongue stirs awake, but today
you speak only six words, the rest blinked out,
like stars beneath a curfew someone set.
Your fire banked low, the blueprint of your life
drowned. You run, but ghosts will follow,
shadows pressing their knees as you fall into.

There’s nothing left but walls to break into,
laws welded from ash that still govern today.
They say, be wild like fire, but demand you follow
smoke’s collapse, exiled again and burned out
by fumes that feast on memory and life,
while swearing everything was rightly set.

The standard clutches so tight, your eyes set
into stone. You scream, but the cry folds into
dust. Old titans’ laws shackle your life—
their iron hymns forever playing loud today,
still birthing scripts you’re told to live out,
still laughing when you flinch, still shouting follow.

Who am I kidding? You were born to follow.
You bowed so long, your spine just set.
It’s easier to rot in riches than flame out,
to sip old lies and never dive into
the silence buried under all of today,
where something raw once lived and called it life.

So here we sit, just echoes imitating life,
watching weak fires flicker. We hope it follows
through, but we know: the structure owns today.
I still dream of sun, though it long since set.
I don’t want survival; I want to fall into
a blaze that doesn’t ask me to burn out.

Well, my friend, today is the toll I pay for life.
I’ve broken out of the maze—will you still follow?
Let’s run into the fire. Only our burnt skin will be set.