Break in form

Form and function, always. What's left to lose? Nothing. So much to gain. I run, I spread my wings, I try to fly always. Down, maybe, they take me. But first and foremost, I will fly. Fuck yes. This is not the right tone. It lacks fortitude. My face is pressed into a mold I forgot about, but it's still there and I can feel it on my nose. Tomorrow I break free. Free as I wanted to be. I don't know if I want that. But of course I do. Those shackles are too small for these wings.