Sing me a song blue bird
Sing me a tune
Your cage may have barriers of bars
But your sound flows through each open gap  
The notes are so sharp who hurt you so ,my bluebird
What is the reason you don’t sing anymore to me ?
How long has the cage been locked ,my dear blue bird
The people pass by so abruptly does this burden you so looking through gap
You have so much room to fly and your wings aren’t clipped .. have you given up your reason to fly blue bird
Is this a silent cry?
The cage is so comforting to them because your beauty is trapped behind these clinging bars with echoing chirps
Are you an interchange antique that hangs so delicately in their small attention span or a relic of memory It seems to me
This cage has become your home and only given comfort
It’s cold and has nowhere to lay your head except your pedestal for non-consensual modeling
You haven't been fed an option in so long that your position is stiff and lost
Your feathers have lost their red tint that you now embrace a blue aura
Is this how you imagined it my dear blue bird a tune so sharp that it pierces them
As they did your life’s joyish song
Sing me a song blue bird
Sing me a lost tune.

A prisoner confined in thought sitting at rest.There are not bars on any doors or barriers of shortness of lines.The prisoner is stuck buried in his own guilt of the everlasting pen and its stroke upon the white canvas of new beginnings.The prisoner has the option to leave anytime he wishes, but he chooses to stay with the others lost in the mass vocabulary of the world.Only he just needs some kind of motivation: a step, a push, a word, on the open ground, and paper of evoluting progress.Instead he remains confined waiting for the prison guard to shut the door as they always had time and time before.Confining him and his pen, but never his dreams.How did he end up here? In this prison of silence and blankness.Only to speak again when the words settle his rusty chains and his calloused hands latch onto the pen once more.

It is too heavy.Not the covers or the weighted pillows, but the reasons why i’m not needed to walk.The sheets are bolted cuffs clasping tight and hard leaving bruises and hiding scars.The room is dark hiding me from any unwanted eyes who are just trying to pass by.To hide the mess I have made in my mind so no one can pull me from these chains of cotton and silk.It is not a uncomfortable weight ,but an awkward loneliness that one side is empty and cold while my side is burning and overused. So used it concaves on itself, but I am never claustrophobic instead accepting of what couldn’t be another disappointment to my maids of chaos.Who attempt to make me clean and polish only create more wrinkles that represent a battlefield of the mind.I’m not narcissistic,but trapped in an a ongoing war.Barricaded myself in the covers that I hoped would shield me have only taken me as prisoner.I can not remember the last time these sheets have been washed or my mind ,but I know it holds a chemical air that flows through the field.I’m not choking ,but I can watch those trapped in the crevices of the sheets dying off. Is this lunacy or my mind trapped in this bed just suffocating in what now has become my death bed.