Cage

A poem about being sad and the psychosomatic things that come with it.

Paper scraps
in my brains folds
Invisible wrinkles
because I feel old
Canyons on my cheeks
and sleep gone from my eyes
I rise early
but propped up in unlife
I feel incomplete
yet I am also done
can I ever be free of cages
if my head is one?

Author's Note

Opinions welcome