Wednesday, September 29, 2010

depression (II)

in this cage
the seventeen birds guarding my heart
desperately beat their wings trying to escape
the stench of rotting flesh permeating their nostrils
the copper blood turned black bubbling in their throats
all the lifewill oozing out their pores
dreams dripping off inky claws
that scrape the walls of this sinking ship
whose captain has locked the door and destroyed the key
left the lights off and turned the stove on
lain down while humming
if you want to sing out, sing out
and if you want to be free, be free
the notebook paper on the nightstand with the scrawled words
SING, LITTLE BIRDS, SING
            FLY AWAY

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