Caged like a bird
As courageous as a lion
Starved to death
Yet still he lacks the normalities of humans
The clean wrists
The smooth skin
He lacks a house
Without bars covering all the exits
He lacks normal afternoons
Without the voice of psychologists
Hoping he would listen to reality
he lacks sanity
lost as a child
When his mother's fingers
never brushed his face
When a plate never came in contact with his fingers
But with his jagged skin above his eyebrow
When his fathers belt
Couldn't seem to stay on his pants
But suffocated him
Striking until he was a slave
Being transported from reality
To the hell of insanity
Rocking on the waves
That wouldn't stop
Surrounded by voices
That weren't his own
Fingers calloused from
gripping the floor
to keep from sliding
off the side
into the murky waters
that held the
siren of beauty
of pain
of horrors that never seemed to stop
until he let go
Then it was not a voice of another filling his ears
but his own