I weep for the beat of my heart
Now so foreign and unfamiliar to me
Bird in my ribcage ripping her wings
In the desperate bids to free herself
And flee from the bulbous rotting shadows
That share in her lightless prison
All my blood replaced with oil
And the small bird shrieks as she chokes
Guttural and laboured
But still
No freedom
No release
Only the screams of a dying bird,
The mournful cries of her captor
And the laughter of the shadows
Eating at them both