I am a bird with clipped wings. Sitting upon the pedestal of the universe I shoot away the ages, waiting patiently for an escape from my troubled mind. As aeons go by in unfailing monotony I gaze out into the cosmos. Lifetimes of men come and go as if in seconds, while I stare at the stars; brilliant little holes in a veil of complete nothingness, portals to different realities. Madness is ever-looming as I float through infinite stillness; my senses dulled in my isolation. I want nothing more than to cast off from my perch, to float among the heavens and escape this everlasting purgatory, but I cannot. I am a hostage, bound to this celestial asylum in solitude. My body is my cell – my blood and bones are my burden, the chains keeping my soul from flying free.
By Nick Chiasson,