Cushion critic: Time lapse

I can hear the white noise,

it's all around me,

shaking up the silence,

putting me to sleep.

There is a bruise on my face,

I keep picking on it,

self infliction is a given,

because my mind wanders.

My hands and feet are cold,

these layers of skin are not enough,

I am searching for warm bodies,

for my blood to flow again.

There is tightness in my chest,

I am not breathing anymore,

it's too loud in here,

Because it is only me.

The traffic outside is blaring,

its laughter will shatter my windows,

and their warmth will get in,

it will freeze me to death.

Demons

Do you want to be a part of my chaos?
To seethe and burn in this mess,
to welcome the confusion, the panic, the pain,
and most of all, the anxiety followed by dread.
Do you want to breath the breathlessness of it all?
Feel the slow callusing of my heart and flesh,
meet the demons I live with and those who live within me,
who have inured to a sense of pleasure through me.
Do you want to befriend the ones that visit during solitude?
Touch the ones that crawl through my skin to reach my lungs,
those who bare their teeth and gnaw at my insides,
till I clutch my chest tight and silently cry in the dark.

Do you want to be no one and still be somebody?
Forget what the world thinks and accept my broken soul,
pick up my pieces and glue them back together,
I know I am not perfect but with you I can be better.

Flight

I thought I was 'free' but I am not, 

deceived into thinking I am unbound,

living a free life and calling the shots,

confined within this free world I thought I found.

But I am foolishly and unknowingly living an order,

a slave to my disguised freedom,

or living a freedom within this slavery?

Unsure, I set limits to contain this liberation.

I am a slave to my routine and compulsions,

a designed balance to contain this chaos,

my ideals intact with a pinch of independence,

to repress the leeway my life has become.

So this is the order with an obscure narrative,

I was free, but then came in the rules,

forming a pattern mingled with my disposition,

ignorant to an evolving habit I couldn't elude.

Now, I watch the birds fly south,

realizing how similar we are in our everyday life,

free, yet chained to these instincts and needs,

living an idea of freedom within a defined premise.

I would chase them and plead them to take me along,

to teach me how to fly and 'prey' in the wild,

to breakaway from the monotony of my fabricated world,

to be a boundless maverick with a limitless flight.