Pain, love, sorrow, and much, much more
all contained in thoughts and words,
if they could all just fly away,
like a raucous flock of birds.

But instead, they visit me,
time and time again,
to peck and peck and peck at me,
like cold wet drops of rain.

Sometimes just one comes round,
I feed it seed by hand,
this I don't mind and manage,
problems are when many make demands.

They each take a piece of me,
I try to run and hide,
but alas I cannot,
because of me, they are inside.